Harry Potter and the Secret Within
by Shentaro
Summary: After the events at the end of Harry's fifth year, nothing is going to be the same again for him, or for those around him. As the wizarding world strugles on the brink of collapse, a young man fights for his soul. A HHR story.
1. Just a Day Like Any Other

**Disclaimer** – I don't own anything you might recognize.

**Chapter 1 – Just a Day like Any Other**

As it often does from time to time, the sun had risen lazily above the roofs of Privet Drive, caressing the sleeping neighborhood with its gentle rays. The cloudless summer sky and the bright light that glinted off the prisms of dewdrops foretold an extraordinary Sunday.

But, no matter how marvelous the day would be, nothing could make Vernon Dursley forget the calamity that had descended upon his house so many years ago. The calamity was Harry Potter, his almost sixteen year old damn nephew. Harry had returned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – or in Vernon's words, _that school of weirdoes and freaks _– nearly two weeks previously. Ever since then the simple fact that they lived under the same roof was giving Vernon a migraine that refused to go away. The pain was driving the already-irritable man to new heights.

On that beautiful Sunday morning the Dursleys were sitting down to breakfast. Petunia all-knowing and kindly, perched herself delicately on the edge of her chair. In front of her, ravenously eyeing the food, her sweet and gentle-hearted son Dudley sat carefully; wary of the chair creaking beneath his weight. Vernon, the almighty father and head of the house, settled himself down with a small grunt of pleasure. Smiling happily at each other, the charming family began to serve itself with gusto.

While shoveling food down his throat, Vernon raised a silent prayer to God thanking him from the bottom of his heart for the delicious food he was having and for keeping the insufferable brat upstairs in his room. If God heard him or not is still debatable, but what is sure is that just as he topped off his plate with a large helping of delicious bacon, the most infernal piercing noise came from Harry's room. Ice in Hell takes more time to melt than his joyful disposition did.

"Damn it!" he raged, waving his fork and spattering his wife and son with pieces of fried eggs, "can't I even eat breakfast without that awful bird of his making a racket?" When no one answered, Dudley being too busy working on completing his human-to-swine transformation, and Petunia being too wrapped up in making sure her precious baby was getting his nutrients, Vernon grunted again in frustration and dug into his breakfast once again.

What he called breakfast, most people would call a copious dinner. Since the previous year when Dudley, the light of his parent's lives, had begun boxing, things had changed. The meager diet they had imposed to help their beloved son loose weight was replaced by an opulent one. It was high in protein and energy to help Dudley get through those horrible hours at the gym spent honing his brilliant pugilistic talent.

Seeing the delight with which his son took to the new diet, Vernon had begun to use it himself. The result was forty-four pounds of extra fat on his already beefy frame, making him gasp with every effort. But this morning Vernon had barely begun his bacon when the loud shrieking noise came again with a vengeance from his nephew's room.

"Boy, you'll keep that bird silent!" he bellowed menacingly, letting the threat hang in the air as his face went from pale to increasingly dark shades of red from anger. Thoughts of the annoying plucked pigeon impaled on a stick above a raging fire kept popping through his mind.

It appeared, however, that Harry had decided to blissfully ignore his relatives that morning, as the bird's wails were still carving huge chasms into Vernon's already sore brain.

Dudley looked up from his food for a moment to look ecstatically at his father's swollen, fuming face. He hadn't seen his dad this close to the boiling point for quite some time. Nearly a year had passed since that incident, and the mere thought of those d-d-dementors was still sending icy shivers down his spine.

Seeing the fanatical look on her husband's face, Petunia rushed up the stairs as fast as her skinny long legs were able to take her, in a desperate attempt to put an early end to the circus that was about to begin. Reaching the upstairs hall, she tried in vain to open Harry's door. She might have had more luck opening up a wall. And that bird was hooting, and hooting...

"Harry Potter, open the door this instant!" she demanded, pounding furiously with her fists at the door.

But once again, Harry decided to ignore them, showing just how much her opinion meant to him at the moment.

Petunia heard Vernon climbing the stairs, puffing, his face red from exertion, and a mad glint in his piggy eyes. Dudley, not wanting to miss what seemed to be the beginning of a great show, followed a step behind his father.

"This is it! I can't take it anymore!" boomed the fat man between gasps, the blood speeding with great velocity through his arteries. How or why some of his blood vessels hadn't popped is one of the small mysteries that sadly will never be elucidated.

"Vernon, the boy closed himself in", Petunia wept pleadingly as soon as her husband managed to crawl his way up the stairs.

"Oh yeah?" he spat eloquently. "I'll show him who the boss around here really is!" and, with a sudden lunge, Vernon threw himself at the door.

He was a human mountain of fat, and Harry's door was hardly made to defend against intruders. When the frenzied amalgam of bones, meat, and fat that was Vernon made contact with the wood, the door exploded, shattering apart. Unable to stop his momentum, Vernon found himself flat on Harry's floor, sweeping the dusty carpet with his moustache.

With a nearly unbelievable effort, Vernon rolled over and sat up, mumbling something incomprehensible which might have been a request for help getting to his feet. Not receiving an answer, he focused his gaze on the two people who were standing in the doorway.

Petunia was goggling with terrified eyes at something in the opposite corner of the room, her face snow white. It seemed that she couldn't control the slight flutter of her lower lip. Dudley matched his mother perfectly, and even did her one-up: his mouth was wide open, and through his teeth chunks of food were clearly visible.

Swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat, Uncle Vernon turned and dragged his eyes slowly across the small bedroom. A huge wooden trunk lay open in the middle of the floor, filled with books, scrolls, a cauldron, and objects of questionable use. Sunlight coming through the closed window, opposite the hole that had once been a door, was blocked by a large birdcage – perhaps this is why he hadn't noticed the scene on the other side of the room at once. But it didn't take him long to notice. The white owl made sure of it, flying circles over the bed and hooting loudly, her wings thumping the ceiling.

Lying on the bed was a slender young man with raven black hair and green eyes. The boy was sleeping, and he was dreaming...

It was one of the oddest dreams he had ever had, and considering the dreams that had haunted him before, that was saying something. He was floating in a sea of endless darkness. He couldn't see his body; he wasn't even sure if he still had one.

An image started to appear before his eyes, like a movie projected upon the silver screen. He could see a group of people, himself included, in a dimly lit, amphitheater shaped room. He watched in slow motion as a beam of light hit a man straight in the chest; he saw him bending through the air, a look of confusion and bewilderment carved on his face, and he saw him passing through a black veil, never to return to the land of the living again.

"Sirius!" yelled Harry just as his image did, feeling his heart ripping itself to shreds because of the pain. The image started to fade away, but he continued to shout through his tears, repeating the name. Sirius... the one man that had been something of a father to Harry, even if it was only for a short period of time. His eyes stung and his throat became like paper, but he couldn't stop. Nothing mattered anymore except the grief and the pain of Sirius's death. The pain was rising from his heart, ripping bones and flesh and skin in a desperate attempt to engulf his very being.

"Harry…Harry...look at me. Please put an end to the tears and look at me. Please".." It was a voice he knew well, a voice full of love and understanding. A voice that had the power to dry his eyes and ease the beating of his heart.

I know that voice, Harry thought through the haze that cluttered his brain". "Hermione?" he mumbled weakly, opening his eyes.

It wasn't her. Instead of his friend he saw his mother, Lily Potter. She was smiling at him with those green eyes so much like his own, eyes full of love and understanding. He felt as though he had not a care in the world as long as her eyes, her brilliant green eyes, were locked with his. Harry knew that she had taken away his pain with just a glance of her beautiful red, flaming eyes. Snake-like eyes with vertical black pupils; eyes just like.."

"No. No, no, NO! This is not happening! This can't be... this is not real!" Harry cried refusing to belief. He started two twist and turn in a fruitless struggle to put distance between himself and that nightmare in front of him. But it was all in vain, because wherever he turned, whatever he did, he could not lose the gaze of those lidless, red, glowing eyes"

"Oh, but this is real, Harry", his mother continued with a suave, sweet voice". "Don't be afraid. This is what I really am inside, and through me, you are as well. Embrace that which has been given to you, don't fight it, for this is the only way".." her voice slowly drifted away, her face melting into the shadows with a warm smile on her lips.

Harry was alone again in the darkness, alone with only those red, glowing eyes to keep him company. He couldn't do anything but open his mouth in a silent scream as they burned his soul, his memories, and his will, turning them to cinder. He felt pain like he had never felt before, this new sensation making Voldemort's Crucio feel like a cute, innocent tickle.

Harry was dreaming...

When Vernon's eyes finally landed on the spot where his nephew slept, his heart stopped and his expression turned just as horrible as his son's.

Harry lay in a pool of his own blood, his lifeless face white as chalk.

OoOoOoOoO

At about the same time, in another place, the sun was sending its ethereal messenger to gently lure a sleeping young woman from the sweet embrace of the dreamland. Things didn't go as planned, for when a ray of light worked its way down to caress her face, a sharp intake of air made her chest arch painfully. A breath later, her muscles relaxed somewhat and she lazily fluttered her eyes open to greet the new day.

Battling with the last remains of sleep, she languidly raised her arms above her had and stretched her body to get rid of any unwanted kinks that might have crapped up during the night. She turned her head towards the window and she smiled. _Ah, another great day for reading_, she reasoned as she saw the clear blue sky through the glass. She loved to cuddle in her favorite chair in her parents' back garden with a good book. The light breeze amidst her bushy hair always gave her a feeling of freedom.

Speaking of reading... The girl directed her thoughts towards her next conquest, a book entitled "The Life and Achievements of the Most Prominent Witches in History". She'd found it on the wrong shelf in the bookstore during her last Hogsmeade weekend, and had immediately bought it. Thinking of Hogsmeade, images of a mighty castle filled her mind as well, and with them an avalanche of memories and feelings was brought to the fore-front of her mind.

A feeling of uneasiness, like an annoying itch the she couldn't scratch, accompanied her mental projection. She stood carefully in the middle of her bedroom and scanned her surroundings with an attentive frown. Everything was in order – a very particular order, to be precise. Nothing had been moved from their carefully chosen places.

Her eyes flew quickly over her bed and nightstand, over her wardrobe and her impressive bookcase, and finally settled on her desk. The book sat patiently there, just waiting to be read. She lightly touched the leather cover with the tip of her fingers and a wave of restlessness swept through her.

Something definitely wasn't right. If she could only put her finger on it...

She felt the cause of her discomfort floating right at the periphery of her perceptions. Closing her eyes, she took three deep breaths to steady herself. The tumult only increased, spreading through her entire body. _What's happening to me? And why is the room spinning? _she asked herself suddenly alert.

She put her hand at her temple, and by sheer force of will focused her vision on the book, putting an end to the rotation of the room. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she tried to drive the nausea away. "Snap out of it Granger. Think!" she reproached herself aloud, eager to hear her voice and convince herself that she wasn't sleeping anymore.

After taking another quick glance around the room she decided that the cause of whatever had happened wasn't there. As she was sitting down to ponder the strange situation, a terrible thought crept into her mind and the blood froze in her veins.

"Mum, Dad!" she yelled at the top of her lungs as she ran down the stairs, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen. She burst through the door, slamming it into the wall. She saw only her father with a newspaper in his hand and a puzzled expression in his eyes; in that moment she froze with fear.

"Pumpkin, what's wrong?" her father asked with great concern as soon as he saw the disheveled state in which his daughter had entered. The newspaper forgotten, he rose from the table and strode over to his daughter, putting a reassuring hand on her shivering shoulder. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Dad, where's mum?" she asked with a trembling voice, her vision starting to become blurry. "Where is she? Please tell me she's all right-" she could not control herself anymore and she fell to her knees, tears falling freely from her eyes.

"Hermione, I'm right here", came the sweet and caring voice of her mother from behind her, and she felt a pair of loving arms wrapping around her body, easing the pain that threatened to crush her. But the relief she felt at her mother's touch was short lived. As soon as she knew that her parents were safe a wave of horror crashed into her with the power of a sledgehammer. If her parents were all right, then that meant that-

"No", she whispered weakly. "No!" Now she knew. But in this particular case, the knowledge hadn't brought her any relief at all. Sitting on the cold kitchen floor in her mother's embrace, little by little she detached herself from the world around her. Her senses shifted inwards, searching... Further and further she went, the surrounding reality, with distressed parents and everything else that entailed, no longer a concern of hers.

Angry pounding at the door distracted for a moment Hermione's parents from their growing apprehension. Mr. Granger scrambled to his feet and rushed towards the source of the commotion, leaving his wife to take care of their daughter.

He returned quickly, followed by a young woman with worried eyes and dark blue hair.

"Wotcher", the young woman greeted the girl and her mother in a dreary voice.

"He...he's dead, isn't he?" Hermione asked in a far away voice, surprising everyone in the room.

The question stopped Tonks in her tracks, and for a second she forgot to breath. Her hair swiftly turned to a pale blue colour. To say that she was shocked by the question would be an understatement. She hadn't expected to find Hermione on the floor with tears drying on her face, nor was she prepared to face two very confused and fearful muggles.

She hadn't had time adjust to the unforeseen situation when three wizards popped into the small kitchen with loud cracks, further adding to the confusion. The Granger's jumped, and Tonks reached reflexively for her wand.

The wizards wore dark gray overcoats and black high hats. All three of them were very thin, bony, and freshly shaved. Their posture was extremely rigid and they were surveying the room with an obvious air of superiority.

_What in Morgana's name are these paper pushers doing here?_ Tonks exasperatedly thought as she recognized the Ministry emblem on their chests; with a flick of her wrist she sent for the time being her wand back to its holster on her forearm.

Studiously ignoring the other people in the kitchen, one of the men strode pompously to Hermione. With a theatrical gesture that annoyed Tonks greatly he removed a scroll from his lower left pocket and unrolled it, brandishing it in his right hand. He dressed his voice with a tiny cough and began to read aloud using an official tone.

_"Dear Miss Granger,_

_It has come to our attention that an unauthorized charm was performed on the morning of Sunday, July 20th, at your place of residence and by you. This is a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery._

_Due to your illegal actions, you have been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The processors of this letter_ – that's us," the reader pointed to himself and his cronies _"have the authority and the duty to destroy your wand._

_Mafalda Hoprick_

_Improper Use of Magic Office,_

_Ministry of Magic."_

He carefully rolled the scroll and placed it back into his pocket.

Hermione didn't seem to notice that she was expelled, that her wand was to be broken, or even that three unknown Ministry officials had just apparated into her kitchen. Actually, she hadn't moved a muscle since asking her question of Tonks. She remained on the floor, her legs cramped beneath her, her right hand clutching the wrist of the other, as though waiting for a verdict. Her face was very pale, and she gave the impression that she was looking into the beyond.

Trelawney would have been proud.

The Granger's eyes were running circles around the room, jumping from person to person. Their worry for their daughter and the arrival of three complete strangers had led them to complete confusion. They were momentarily quite speechless, but if a legilimens had been standing nearby, the thoughts radiating off the couple would have been something like this:

_Who? Decree of what? Expelled! Destroy wand! Need coffee. My girl! Just...WHAT!_

As for Tonks – if she hadn't already been circumspect of the three Ministry lackeys, her doubts would have been laid to rest. It was quite clear that this wasn't going to end with a warm smile, a friendly handshake, or a pat on the back. Truth be told, Tonks wished she could have remained in bed that morning. That way she wouldn't throw her career down the window. Oh well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Making one step further, the Ministry official extended his arm towards Hermione and said casually, "Miss Granger, your wand if you please." He truly expected her to comply with his demand. After all, he was a ministry official!

"You can NOT do this!" said Tonks tensely. She tripped on the foot of a chair while trying to step in front of him, but a spark of grim determination was clear in her eyes nonetheless.

"What's going on here?" a furious voice demanded. "Somebody please explain what you are all doing in my house!" Apparently Mr. Granger had just found his voice.

The Ministry representative was taken aback by the rude interruptions. He turned to take a better look at those who had the audacity to question his actions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you are muggles. This does not concern you." He made to turn away, dismissing them quickly, but Ms. Granger's cold voice stopped him.

"That would be Dr. and Dr. Granger to you, and anything that affects our daughter is our concern," Louise Granger snapped angrily. She was still holding Hermione in her arms.

The Official looked bewildered for a moment, as though unsure what the protocol for such a situation was. Never before had he believed that muggles could show hostility towards his person. The fact that this was his first encountered with a non-magical person had nothing to do with his reasoning. Mentally perusing the Ten Golden Rules for Dealing with Muggles, he nodded his head once and said with a pompous timber, "I am Mr. Stiffly, and I am here on official business from the Ministry of Magic." He looked at all those in the room vainglory. "If you would step back please, this will only take a moment."

"Don't tell me what to do in my own house!" retorted Kendal Granger, not in the mood to listen to the demands of some unknown and highly obnoxiously individual. Not ever, and especially not when something was wrong with his daughter.

Looking pointedly into his eyes, Tonks jumped back in the verbal dispute with a calming voice. "Dr. Granger, please allow me to try and clarify this." This, and the fact that his wife placed a hand on his arm seemed to appease him for the moment.

Mr. Stiffly eyed the young woman with a critical leer. He twitched his mouth in a deprecatory way. "And who might you be, that you dare interfere with the Ministry of Magic's business?" asked Mr. Stiffly coldly, trying and failing to look intimidating. The other two had approached to lend support to their colleague. Their expressions were similarly arrogant.

"I am Nymphadora Tonks, Auror for the Ministry of Magic," she replied firmly, "and I want t-"

"Yes, yes, Auror." He accompanied his words with a wave of his hand, cutting her in mid sentence. "The thing is that it doesn't matter what YOU want, Auror." He pointed his right index finger at Tonks. "The only thing that matters is what the Ministry wants. Is that clear, Auror?" The way he spat the word _Auror_ left no doubt about the high esteem he had for the witches and wizards that risked their lives in battle against the Dark. "Now step aside like a good Auror and let me do my job," he finished, in a way that left no space for disagreement.

"You will not take her wand!" Tonks retorted, trying to suppress the anger rising inside her. "She has a right to a defensive hearing, at least. And pray tell what charm is she supposed to have done?"

"The Ministry does not have time to socialize with all the underage wizards that cannot abstain from performing magic" he all but shouted. The other two ministry officials nodded their heads in agreement.

"She's almost seventeen!" Tonks tried, desperately searching for a diplomatic solution to the problem. Miracles do happen from time to time.

"In dangerous times like this, we must be united. We all must obey the law to the letter. The fact that she is almost seventeen does not excuse her from proper punishment."

When he spoke of _law_, _ministry_, and _punishment_, exaltation seemed to seep into his voice. Clearly he was a man who took pride in his job.

"What charm she has cast is of no consequence. Step aside, Auror, this does not concern you." He paused, and then added, in the same tone he would use to teach a three year old that putting his fingers in fire would hurt, "You shouldn't even be here."

When Tonks continued to stare at him in disbelief, making no move to comply with his demand, he took another step forward. His right hand reached for his wand, emphasizing the fact that he wasn't going to let anybody or anything stop him from doing his duty. He would pull his wand and take care of the insolent witch. While half of his brain was occupied with the process of gripping and aiming the wand, the other half was already compiling a comprehensive list of all the laws that were broken by this Auror. He smiled in anticipation. This was going to be a good day after all.

While Tonks had the ability to look like she had just popped out from every male's fantasy, this was not the only reasons for which she had been accepted in the Auror's force. Among other thing she was also very fast.

In one swift motion she summoned her wand and hurled an _expelliarmus_ in Mr. Stiffly's direction.

He didn't even saw it coming. Caught unaware, Mr. Stiffly flew backwards through his cronies, knocking them with him. They crashed into the plate cabinet in a whirl of arms and legs, smashing it to pieces. Tonks emerged the proud owner of a new wand.

Right on time, an old, grizzled wizard apparated into the room with a crack of displaced air, his long gray hair hanging across his scarred face. He made two steps towards the recovering ministry officials, which were now trying to get up on their feet. A heavy thump accompanied every other step, due to his wooden leg.

A bit of quick wand-work and three _stupefy_ spells later, and jets of red light hit their marks with their expected result. Mr. Stiffly and his mates were blissfully unconscious.

"Bureaucrats!" growled Mad-Eye Moody with bitterness, more for himself than anyone else.

Tonks heard and gave him a half-roguish, half-grievous smile.

This was too much for two law abiding dentists. Being witnesses to a duel between wizards in their own kitchen was not a part of their usual weekend schedule. They stood beside their daughter, holding each other, their eyes fixed on the freshly Stunned men. By the expressions on their faces it was clear that they found the scenery breathtaking.

Not one for useless pleasantries he went right to the point. "Come on, let's move, we don't have all day," grunted Moody. He was glaring impatiently at the Grangers with his good eye, while the big, blue, magical one was spinning inside its socket with stunning speed. "Have you packed already?"

"Moody, not everyone is as paranoid as you," Tonks stepped in with a nagging voice, the stunned bureaucrats momentarily forgotten. "Normal people don't have a set of luggage just in case they have to wake in the middle of the night and scram." She knelt near Hermione and tried with little success to bring her back from wherever she was.

"Well they should. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" barked Moody.

"Just what is going on here?" Now that the initial shock had passed, Mr. Granger's patience was running thin.

"We're in a war! And you and your family are not safe here anymore. You must come with us. That's why we're here. And we're running out of time as we speak." Mad-Eye Moody could always be trusted to cut to the essentials.

"War? What war?" asked Ms. Granger, fear creeping into her voice. Things just kept getting better and better.

"Hermione hasn't told you anything?" Tonks asked with a puzzled expression, her eyes shifting between Hermione and her mother.

"She said something about a dark wizard, but she didn't give many details," Mr. Granger explained factually. "Is this true Hermione? Is there a war out there?" he pointed at the world outside the window, blatant disbelief in his voice.

None could tell if Hermione even acknowledged her father's question or not. One way or the other, she didn't answer. But Tonks did. "I assure you Dr. Granger, there is."

Mrs. Granger gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

"Then how come she's involved in this? She's just a child!" Mr. Granger's voice echoed very loudly in the kitchen. He didn't believe in raising his voice normally, but the world was crumbling down around his head, and he'd just reached his breaking point.

Hermione, with her eyes closed wasn't paying any attention to what was happening around her. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

With her eyes closed she searched for the spot inside of her that was suppose to burn with a white flame, warming her soul and giving her hope. She couldn't find it. There was nothing left; only a vacuum that was about to fill with despair.

The dam she had built up to keep it at bay was collapsing, and she didn't want to do anything to stop it. Not anymore. All she wanted to do was to let go. She had lost what that she had hoped would forever be a part of herself. She felt alone and isolated in the world.

Any moment now.

A bitter sea of sorrow rose vertiginously and clashed against the dam, shaking it's foundations. Her heart jumped with surprise when the wall survived and the waves retreated back into the blackness from whence they came. She slowly opened her eyelids and saw Tonks' face only inches in front of her. Her mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear any sounds. She gathered herself and focused on the movement of Tonks's lips.

"Hermione, Harry is alive!" Tonks had forgotten how many times she had repeated those words. She saw the light of understanding appearing in Hermione's hazel eyes, and then she was clutching the crying girl to her chest.

"This is neither the time, nor the place for this," snapped Mad-Eye Moody. He turned to the Grangers. "We aren't safe here. You must come with us – otherwise, we cannot guarantee that you will be alive tomorrow morning. Is that clear?" Moody looked like he was about to stun anyone who didn't agree with him.

"When we reach our destination, everything will be explained. Is this tolerable, Dr. Granger?" Tonks asked, again playing peacekeeper. She still had Hermione in her arms.

Hermione's parents didn't know what to do. They had been driven into a conflict they knew nothing about, and to top if off, it felt like they didn't know their daughter anymore. She was crying right there beside them, and they didn't know how to appease her. They were lost.

"I guess so," murmured Mr. Granger. "Do we even have a choice? What about our jobs?"

Seeing that Moody was getting more restless by the minute, Tonks thought that it was better if she explained; and she had to be quickly at that too. "Dr. Granger, you will take a holiday until things are back to normal. And don't worry about the material support. Money is not a problem. Now, let's get going. Forget about your baggage, if necessary someone will pick it up later."

"What about them?" asked Ms. Granger, pointing at the three still unconscious ministry officials.

"What they don't know can't hurt us," Tonks joked.

Moody quickly barked three charms in rapid succession, clearing their memories. With a wave of his wand he had conjured some strips with which he tied up the men on the floor. Pointing his wand at the ropes binding them, he murmured _portus_, and after three seconds, they disappeared.

"Where'd you send them?" Tonks asked with undisguised interest.

"It's better if you don't know," growled Moody pulling a sock from his inner trench pocket. "Now, then, let's get out of here."

"This is a portkey," explained Tonks to Hermione's parents. "Dumbledore gave it to us. You must all touch it. One finger will do."

They approached reluctantly, but did as they were told. So did Tonks and Hermione.

_Alive. He is alive. Harry is alive._ Hermione was mentally repeating the words over and over. She couldn't help but believe what Tonks had said. The opposite was too terrible to phantom. Despite what her heart told her, she believed. And slowly the white fire flared again in her chest, bringing her hope.

She spared a moment to look at her parents. She could see the puzzled expressions on their faces, and it pained her that they had to find out like this. She hadn't told them anything, not wanting them to worry about something they had no control over. All she wanted was the small amount of time she spent with them every year to be full of joy and happiness. No fears, not worries, no problems, and no magic. She just wanted to be with them and enjoy their company.

Hermione could only hope they would understand that and be able to forgive her.

_One step at a time, Granger, one step at a time,_ she told herself while touching the sock.

"In a few seconds you will feel a slight pull behind your navel. There will be a disturbance, and then we will be at our destination," Tonks said, continuing her explanation.

The Grangers nodded. They looked at their daughter. Seeing the suffering still reflected on her face, Ms. Granger put her hand on Hermione's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. Mother and daughter looked at each other.

There was no resentfulness in their eyes, no anger and no incrimination. No words had been shared, but they both knew they would go through this together. They were still family.

Before the portkey activated, Tonks pointed her wand at the mess in the kitchen and uttered a lazy _Reparo_. The next moment they were in the gloomy kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Moody helped the Grangers to their feet.

Only Remus Lupin was awaiting them. If Hermione would have actually bothered to look at him she would have noticed that he looked weaker than ever. Before Remus managed to greet them properly, the young witch bolted out the door and hurried up the stairs.

"Harry is in-"but what he had to say never reached Hermione's ears. She didn't need anybody to tell her where he was. She already knew.

As she was running through the ancient Black residence, a small part of her brain was thinking about her parents. She knew she had to speak with them parents sooner of later, but this was not the time. They were out of immediate danger, and they were about to be told the truth, or part of it, or whatever. It didn't really matter. Whatever would happen, it would have to suffice. Everything that matter to her at the moment was Harry. She had to see him, had to touch him, to convince herself that he was all right. There was no other way.

Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey were absorbed in a whispered conversation when Hermione rushed between them, almost knocking them off their feet. She continued running further down the corridor from which they came, not even bothering to greet them. The Healer turned school nurse tried to stop her, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Minerva did nothing. She only watched with an attentive frown the retreating back of her student.

After a mad dash Hermione reached a sturdy brownish cashew door. Taking a deep breath, she hastily stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her.

She saw a small, simple room with only a bed, a nightstand, a table and several high-backed wooden armchairs. A yellow sunbeam came through the window, giving the room an air of peace.

Hermione's eyes stopped on the bed, or more exactly on the person on top of it. Covered by a blanket, Harry was sleeping with his neck wrapped in bandages. His face was very pale, no doubt due to a massive blood loss. She wiped a tear from her eyes and took a seat beside him, taking his right hand in hers.

That one touch was all it took to seal her life forever; her soft delicate hands wrapping themselves around Harry's.

_Strange – how such a simple gesture can hold such great power,_ she thought distractedly.

The young witch looked mesmerizing upon the face of the boy to whom she had given her heart, piece by piece, for the past five years. And now she had given him her soul as well. The finality of her act didn't strike her as odd. Until morning she thought that she had failed. But now, proven wrong, she was glad that it had happened. How? She was going to find that as well, all in good time. Her lips started to curve into a small, wicked grin and her eyes flashed with satisfaction. It had been _her_ choice, _her_ decision. She had known the risks. The elation she felt almost made her laugh aloud, but with one glance at the bed she had remembered why she was here in the first place and for the second time that day she felt a pang of regret at the way things had come to be. She tightened the grip she had on his right arm, and by doing so, she chased away the tears that were about to trickle on her cheeks and she stepped fully in her new role; and whatever concerns she might have still had about the rest of the world, they just went down the drain. She had a job to do, after all.

OoOoOoOoO

It is a known fact that when trouble decides to rear its ugly had, it affects everybody who is unlucky enough to stumble in its path. Good or bad, white, black or gray, trouble doesn't care whose day it ruins. And the day was just beginning.

There was nothing exceptional about the wall that completely surrounded a small hill near the suburbs of a small English town. It was just a normal six foot tall, red brick wall with no openings whatsoever, that was unaffected by the passing of years. Its history was unknown; the elders from the village could remember their forefathers talking about it, but what they said was lost in the pits of their memories.

Nobody wanted to know anything about it, or about what lay beyond. People seemed to be content in their blissful ignorance. And if, by some casual occurrence, a young couple strode towards the hill during a lovely Sunday afternoon, they would most suddenly remember some very import affair – like doing the dishes or mowing the lawn – that needed their most devoted attention. They would slowly turn their backs to the wall, never to approach it again.

The isle of trees that covered the hill was just as plain as the wall itself. No matter what the time of year, the small forest always had the same grayish colors. It didn't matter if it was the middle of winter or a sunny day, the trees always had the same tattered brown leaves hanging from their branches, leaves that never seemed to shiver in the wind.

And then there was the silence flooding the place... an eerie silence that erupted from the earth itself, its only purpose to muffle all sounds of the world. No bird had ever been seen to fly over the hill, no bugs and no bees were crawling through the dead canopy. No sound, no motion...

Only death.

Deep within the bowels of the hill there was a small, round throne room. It was right in the middle of a labyrinth of passageways that connected several chambers from different parts of an underground complex. The many galleries were paved with rough blocks of granite, polished under the pressure of ages. A thin layer of dust covered the cobbles, and cobwebs dangled like clusters of grapes, bringing a much needed airiness to the place.

Here and there torches sent out dismal rays of red light that added more ghastliness to the already gloomy surroundings. Monolithic pillars carved into hideous and gruesome shapes kept the tunnels from crumbling beneath the weight of the hill. The skulls of long dead, unfortunate humans could be seen quite frequently, staring with empty sockets out of the wall and grinning at the black-robed man as he passed by.

Dressed in a gown as dark as night, he glided through the murky halls of stone, his feet hardly touching the ground. People called him Nightshade, and believed that the name was fitting. He sniffed the clammy air around him and smiled to himself.

_This feels so much like home..._ But as they say, home is where your heart is, and he felt like his heart had been lost for longer than he wanted to remember.

He drifted over to a wall and placed his left hand on the damp stone surface. He could feel the cracks that had begun in the ancient structure, even through his gloves. Nightshade waited patiently to be engulfed by the mist of time and carried to another world, a world in which he had once found peace. Had it been that long?

But all good things must come to an end, and he was abruptly snapped back to reality by the agonizing scream of a dying man. "Now, this should be interesting", he murmured to himself. Being the curious that he was, and because he had nothing else better to do, he began striding towards the source of the disorder. It was an easy thing to do. Even if he didn't know the way, which he did, all he had to do was follow the excruciating cries – they were quite hard to ignore.

On the cold throne of the throne room, the Dark Lord stood dressed from head to toe in the deepest black. Waves of fear and terror were emanating from him just like noxious fumes, paralyzing everything in sight.

Twelve Death Eaters were forming a crescent in front of him, their backs bowed in awe. They stood with their faces hidden beneath shapeless white masks, awaiting the words of their Master. Only Voldemort's red, glowing eyes could be seen under the heavy hood that covered his face.

He was seething, and at his feet laid a man, his body twisting in unnatural and very artistic configurations under the pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort was pissed. He had awakened at dawn from a restless sleep with a major headache and with all his muscles hurting all over his body. And despite his best efforts, the annoying soreness didn't plan to go away any time soon. Pain, when inflicted upon himself, does not a happy Dark Lord make. And somebody had to pay for it. And as it happened, he just had somebody in mind.

He knew from experience that when everything else fails, a little indiscriminate bloodshed and torture was always the key to put him in a good mood. Well, maybe not _a little_, but Voldemort was not one to trap himself with insignificant details like these.

So he ordered his trusted Death Eaters to form several teams for quick hit and run attacks. Their orders were to wreak havoc upon the wizarding world. They had to tell the targets that their only purpose in life was to be game meat for the Death Eaters' amusing pleasure. Voldemort gave them leeway in choosing their targets, trusting the judgment of his lieutenants. And it paid off.

When his trusted underlings had returned from their ventures, they delighted him with their macabre tales. In fact, the onslaught they had produced had been so effective, the he actually managed to crack a smile on his snake-like face. Voldemort was pleased. And the Death Eaters relaxed under their masks – they weren't going to be tortured, not yet anyway; and if they kept the good work, maybe not ever.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange's turn to detail her attack. As the demented Death Eater began her story in her exited baby sing-song voice, another one of Voldemort's minions stumbled in the room. He bowed to his Lord and patiently knelt, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Bella darling, hold your thoughts for a moment," Voldemort commanded, and she obeyed without protest, retreating quietly back to her place. "Radaman! Come before me and speak." The newly arrived wizard made his way quickly in front of the throne and knelt again, kissing the Dark Lord's robe, as the protocol demanded. Voldemort waved his left had and a privacy shield formed around the two of them.

"I do hope you bring good news, Radaman," the Dark Lord hissed through barely opened lips, his eyes fixed on the man at his feet. The mission on which this particular Death Eater had been sat upon was one of the utmost significance. Failure was not an option.

"I need more time, My Lord," Radaman responded. He knew that nothing good could come from his failure. But by answering truthfully and without hesitation he hopped his punishment wouldn't leave him with permanent disabilities. He had even contemplated running away, turning himself to the Ministry, and even suicide. But he loved what he was doing too much, and if the Dark Lord would be gracious enough to give him another chance, he was resigned to suffer whatever Voldemort would inflict upon him.

"You disappoint me, Radaman." This was what the man heard before his consciousness was engulfed in a world of pain. Being the generous being that he was, Voldemort dropped the silencing shield. Why should he be the only one to enjoy himself with the wails and cries of the tortured man? After all, his lieutenants had done a good job today and it was only fair for him to reward them.

Voldemort let the screams wash away his anger. As the cursed man twisted in agony on the floor, Voldemort was weighing the pros and cons of letting him go. At what he did, he was one of the best he had. Only one other had the necessary skill to outclass him. And one cannot have too many good men on his side; but only if they knew their places – beneath his feet and at his mercy.

Should he assign the case to another? Call it providence, call it fate, call it whatever you want, but just then another figure dressed in black entered the room with an obeisance. What was distinctive about this one was that no patch of his skin could be seen, black gloves and a black mask covering his face and palms of his hands.

At the sight that was unraveled before him, the new arrival let out a discreet chuckle. If he had anything in common with the Dark Lord, it would be their loathing of incompetence.

_Yes, he will do perfectly_, Voldemort reflected eyeing Nightshade up and down.

In an uncharacteristically display of mercy, Voldemort interrupted the curse, leaving a broken and unconscious Radaman laying flat at his feet, blood flowing freely from his nose, eyes and ears.

"You two!" – he pointed at two random Death Eaters. "Take him out of here and make sure he gets well. As for the rest of you; out!"

The Death Eaters bowed in silence, eager to appease their Master, and removed themselves from the room with a final "By your leave, My Lord!" leaving only Nightshade to gaze into the pits of Voldemort's cavernous eyes.

"Do you find this amusing?" Voldemort snapped in annoyance.

"Actually, My Lord... I do." Nightshade's amused voice echoed in the small room.

Voldemort relaxed back in his throne, seemingly pleased with the answer he got. "You know what he was doing." It wasn't a question.

Nightshade nodded his head. "Not all the details, but in general, yes, I do know what he was doing."

"So you wouldn't mind taking his place now, would you?" Voldemort continued in the same casual way in which he spoke until now.

"Ask and I shall obey", Nightshade stated without a trace of hesitation. The deadpan way in which he replayed hid his excitement well.

Voldemort leaned foreword, resting his arms on his knees. He brought his fingers just bellow his chin and toke some more time to ponder the situation. After several moments he reached in his cloak and pulled a rolled up scroll which he tossed towards Nightshade. The scroll was deftly picked up from the air.

"You know what to do." Nightshade bowed. "HUNT HIM DOWN..." and the shadows in the room seemed to flicker under the weight of his words.

"As the shadow will, so it shall be", and with a swish of his cloak, Nightshade retreated out of the room through the black shadowy veil that worked as a door.

OoOoOoOoO

While Voldemort was suffering through his morning indisposition, life at the Burrow couldn't be better. At the Weasley's ancestral home, joy and happiness reigned the day.

Molly, the clan's matriarch was in her favorite room of the house, the kitchen, doing what she did and loved best; cooking.

Her youngest son, Ronald was still snoring with his face tucked in his pillow. He had recently heard that sleeping twenty hours a day does wonders for the body. And he was more the eager to test this appealing theory himself.

There was only one more Weasley in the house. She was known as Ginerva, more commonly known as Ginny, the youngest Weasley of them all. She too was in her bed, and she was enjoying herself daydreaming with eyes wide open at the love of her life. Bored out of her wits, she didn't have much else to do anyway. Not without the real thing, anyway.

Molly was adding the finishing touches to her latest culinary masterpiece when a very loud bell like gong was heard throughout the grounds. It was a sound she preyed she would never have to hear.

Upstairs, Ron bolted from the bed with the speed a weasel would envy. Too bad he entangled his feet in the bed's linen. He felt hard on the wooded floor, breaking his nose in the process. Neglecting the pain, and the red fluid that now smeared his lips, chin and upper torso, he gathered himself up and went straight out the door with only a pear of orange shorts covering his vigorous body.

In the hall he met with his sister. She looked as jumbled as he felt. Together they ran as fast as they could down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen from were they could hear their mother frenetically calling for them.

Seeing her children in one piece, more or less, she allowed herself a small breath of relief before tossing some floo powder in the fireplace. Red flames burst to life, and just as spell blasts began to shake the foundations of the house, the three Weasleys had thrown themselves in the fire, the hearth enlarging itself to accommodate them.

After a dazzling trip through the floo network, they landed in an awkward heap covered with soot in the living room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Members of the Order of the Phoenix immediately jumped to help them and see to their needs.

And so it happened, that when Tonks, Moody and the Grangers portkeyed in the kitchen, the Weasleys were all seating in the living room. Each of them was nursing a cup of hot tea to soothe their nerves, each lost in their on thoughts. From what they had picked up from the various wizards and witches that came and went through the Order's headquarters, things weren't pretty in the wizarding world. A strike team had just been deployed at the Burrow, and they were anxiously awaiting news from them. And Harry – they didn't knew exactly what happened to him, only that he was brought in more dead then alive. More reasons of them to worry about.

A year ago Ron didn't like this house. Now, he despised it. He felt like someone or something was watching him from behind, but there was no one there. The feeling was creeping him out. He couldn't help but always look around with wide eyes, scanning every nook and cranny.

Ginny on the other hand acted like she had to evacuate her home every morning. Ron thought that maybe spending too much time with Luna Lovegood was having a negative effect on his little sister. Not that he had the courage to tell her that to her face.

So it was a quiet room in which a tired looking Madam Pomfrey entered.

"Oh, hello Molly, I didn't know you were here," the healer greeted her friend. She sat beside her on a couch, accepting with a worm smile the cup of tea she was offered.

"The Burrow was under attack, and-"Molly tried to say something else, but the tears that began flowing from her eyes prevented her from finishing the sentence.

"Say no more, I understand completely. Are any of you hurt?" Poppy asked them compassionately.

"No, thank Merlin." Molly managed to reign on her tears. "Ron," she pointed at her boy, "had a broken nose, but I took care of that myself." She took another sip of tea. With seven children, she had more than a little practice healing broken bones, cuts, and a plethora of other injuries that to her eternal displeasure were common in her household.

"Madam Pomfrey, how is Harry?" Ron asked her, worry evident in his voice. Both he and Ginny were eager to see their friend, each for their own reasons, and to get away from the room.

"He's not good Mr. Weasley; he's not good at all." Poppy shook her had disappointed. "I have done all I could do, but in this case it isn't much. We must all hope for the best." She could clearly see this wasn't the news they were hopping to hear.

"Can we see him?" Ginny asked, rising to her feet.

"His condition is stable, so I don't see any harm. All I ask from you is to keep quiet and do not disturb him. Did I make myself clear? Good, after all, Miss. Granger is already there and-" Madam Pomfrey trailed off, as her audience had evaporated itself. If she didn't know any better she would have thought they had apparated out the door.

Poppy and Molly looked at each other and they smiled impishly, "Ah, to be young again!"

Not long after Molly's two youngest children went to see their friends, a most distinctive sound made itself heard from above.

"AAAAAAAARRGGH!"

While she was making her way to investigate, a stray thought popped into Poppy's mind. _This is just one of those days..._ She had no idea.

OoOoOoOoO

"Assassination!" the barked accusation of Mad-Eye Moody was immediately quenched by the ever increasing ruckus in the living room.

It was Sunday night, and almost thirty members of the Order of the Phoenix were gathered at Number 12 Grimmauld Place to discuss the day's events. With their clothes imbued with dust, tired feet, and eerie eyes, the witches and wizards were nothing but a cheerful bunch. After a day full of _joy and happiness_ that has put each and every one of them through a roller-coaster of emotions, this was the first time they had the opportunity to come together and piece out the bits of information they had been able to gather. Rickety conversations were sparking between some of them - only to fade away just as fast as they blossomed. Some were arguing, some were vociferating, and some were even screaming their beliefs. Fists were punched into the tables, and hands were run through the hairs of their masters. The noise in the room was raising and falling just like the waves of a stormy sea.

All this under the bewildered eyes of two doctors, dentists to be more precise, whose only guilt was to have as a daughter one of the smartest witches that had ever graced Hogwarts School with her presence. After spending most of the time since they arrived talking with Professor McGonagall, who familiarized them with the happenings of the wizarding world, and after getting more insight of what Hermione had been doing for the past five years, the Grangers weren't in the mood for pleasant conversations. Retreated in one of the corners of the room, they were studying the carpet with fascinating dedication, as if the answer to all the questions of the Universe could be found in its wavering patterns. From time to time, they would raise their heads and take a long look towards the upstairs chamber where Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was talking with their daughter.

It had been a long day, and the tension could be felt almost on a physical level. Just as the ferment in the room reached its peak, the doors of the chamber had opened and a tall thin man with a long silver beard, blue eyes and half-moon spectacles walked in. Just like most people in the room, he was wearing a cloak; a light blue one to be more precise, with twinkling white stars and yellow new moons. The sparkling of his eyes and the fact that he was humming a tune spoke miles to those around him: Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the century, was in a cherry-merry mood, but for the love of Merlin, none of them could put their finger on the way he was behaving almost childish.

The witches, wizards, and muggles alike all rose to their feet, the noise in the room ceasing in an instant. Baffled eyes followed him in his track from the doorway to the room's round table; they watched him waving his wand with a casual move closing the door, and an intricate wand gesture later, the Headmaster was sitting comfortably in a red, squashy armchair.

The old wizard surveyed the people in front of him with amused eyes from above his half-moon glasses.

"Please, please, sit down, all of you" Albus Dumbledore beckoned everybody. Seeing the way they were all looking at him, he could not resist letting out a discreet chuckle. If the roof would have opened and lighting would have descended from the heavens in the middle of the room, the wizards would not have been more thunderstruck then the way they were now.

For a month or so since the events from the Ministry of Magic, the Order did not have many things to be happy about. With Lord Voldemort's return now officially being recognized, the Order's efforts had increased tenfold. What with the intensive training, stakeouts, guarding of different objectives, recruiting new members, looking for new allies, and trying to discover old foes, the Order barely had time to breathe. And to top it all, muggle and muggleborn hunting season had been opened; once or even twice a week, the Dark Mark would make its appearance above someone's house, entire families being tortured and then slaughtered. The Order simply did not have enough manpower to secure everything. And the Ministry wasn't very helpful. After almost fifteen years of relative peace and after one year of denial, the Aurors were far from being ready to deal with this new conflict.

Most people in the magical world could remember very clearly, the terror and panic that accompanied the first rise of Voldemort; the incertitude of not knowing if you were going to wake up the next day or not, the constant fear and the ever-present feeling of impeding doom. So, this being said, together with the news that the Dark Lord had indeed returned, a wave of paranoia that made Mad-Eye Moody proud swept the country. Entire families would barricade themselves in their houses, with protective wards being cast on a daily basis, and people suffering from neck aches due to too much looking backwards. If ever, trust wasn't a commodity anymore.

And even if one would consider only the day's events… No, this was definitely not a time to celebrate. And yet, Dumbledore appeared to do just that.

Reluctantly everyone took a seat at the round table, their earlier quarrels immediately forgotten. Nobody said anything; their attention fixed on Dumbledore.

"I can assure you," began the Headmaster with a calm softening voice, "that I have not yet lost my marbles." A few forced chuckles were heard from the assemblage. Reaching inside one of his many pockets, he pulled out a bag full of yellow candy and popped one in his mouth. "Would anybody care for a lemon drop? They are quite refreshing, you know." The bag quickly went around the table and there were few who did not serve themselves.

"Not a day passes," continued the professor, after a few moments of contemplation, "when life doesn't remind me how amazing our world really is. And if such a day will ever come to pass, then I am certain that it will be the day of my death." The professor closed his eyes, and heaved with a deep sigh. Pondering for a few moments, he proceeded in a serious voice.

"Enough for the ramblings of an old man. Let us all dwell on the matter of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, shell we? Are there any news from Privet Drive, Kingsley?"

"No Headmaster" the African Auror answered in a stern voice. "Beside the tracks that we found that stated clearly that we were not the only ones who surveyed the house, nothing. Whoever was there knew what he was doing. I suspect that he left in a hurry after we arrived. If he had been a little more careful, we would have found nothing. According to the tracks I am sure that he did not enter the house. The one who attacked Harry was a different person. Whether these two people worked together or not, I do not know."

Noticing that Hestia Jones was eyeing him with a frown he added quickly. "And before you say anything Hestia, no, I am not biased. Just as we have discussed earlier, there is not enough evidence to point at the gender of the lurker!"

"What do you mean there is no evidence?" the witch was outraged. "What good are those two eyes of yours if you don't use them? The shape of those footsteps that we found, along with the weight distribution, state clearly that the person who left them was a woman. Why is this so hard to pass through that thick balloon you carry above your neck?"

"ENOUGH already," a middle-aged wizard with sleek white hair stated, "you two have been quarreling like two old hags since morning. It's time to give it a rest, don't you think so?"

Both witch and wizard looked at each other as if they had absolutely no intention to back off. Right before the two hardheads were about to resume their favorite squabble, Albus Dumbledore opened his mouth.

"Mr. Conagen is right. We learn nothing if we bicker amongst ourselves. Now, what more can you tell me about the Dursleys?"

"Ah, them: a bunch of the sorriest muggles if I ever saw one. We obtained absolutely nothing worth mentioning from them" Hestia Jones informed, shaking her head, her previous argument temporarily put aside.

"Their son, Dudley," a tall witch with pale skin and tawny strait hair of about forty years stepped in with her far away voice, "had the look of someone who was struck with a poor aimed memory charm. His eyes were unfocused and he did not seem to be able to form coherent sentences. But I have been told that this is the way he normally behaves. What a strange young man he is… strange…" her voice slowly died out.

Seeing that she did not want to elaborate further, Kingsley continued.

"No trace of spells were found on any of the members of the family, Harry included. We know that a locking charm was used to seal the door to his room. What is puzzling me, Headmaster, is that while the door was locked, the window was left wide open. How could someone go through all the trouble to enter the house, erase his tracks magnificently and leave without a trace and then forget to close the window? We found Harry only because Hedwig returned in the morning from her night hunt and her hooting alerted Simon Bender. If it weren't for her, Harry would have been dead by now. Where is Mr. Bender by the way?" Kingsley asked throwing his eyes around the room looking for him.

"He is not here," Madam Pomfrey told them with on apologetic tone, "I've sent him home and gave him a concentrated dreamless potion. He was still in shock from the morning's events. I do not think that he could have been able to put two useful words together. All he could say was how sorry he was, that he was a failure and so on and so forth."

"You do not need to apologies to us Poppy," Dumbledore said with a nod to Kingsley. "You did what you thought was best. What can you tell us about Harry's wound?"

"Frankly Albus I do not know why, or how, he is still alive. By all means, he should have died. I have run though my entire stock of blood replenishing potions working on him. The wound itself was made with a very sharp blade. Whoever did it had an extensive knowledge of the human anatomy. A hair width deeper and Harry would have died on spot. As it was, it affected his vocal cords and made him bleed to death. The blade must have had some sort of enchantment upon it because it made him bleed at a much slower pace then it should have. I believe the wound was several hours old when we got to him. Albus, wounds like this I can treat, but his current situation is beyond my field of expertise. I cannot come up with any explanation for his current state. It baffles me."

"Thank you, Poppy. As always, your help is invaluable. N-"

"Professor Dumbledore!" All the wizards and witches in the room directed their eyes to the two muggles. Rarely were the moments when Albus Dumbledore was stopped in his speech. "We're sorry to interrupt, but what about our daughter?" They hadn't been allowed to see Hermione since they arrived and now they were more then a little anxious to receive some explanations. The worry and concern they felt for Hermione was etched all over their faces.

"Dr. Granger, it is I who should be sorry, not you. I cannot stop but feel that I have failed in my task as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I have made several mistakes, and now we all have to pay for them. For that I am sorry." The Headmaster closed his eyes and rested his face in the palm of his hands for several long moments. He looked old. For a moment, sitting there, surrounded by people very much younger then him, he felt the cloak of years heavier then ever before. Thinking that this was not the time to feel sorry for himself, with a shrug of his shoulders Dumbledore thrown away the weight of time far away in the back of his mind and sealed it shut below walls of granite.

Opening his eye and lifting his head he resumed his usual everyday demeanor.

"Yes, about Hermione. Let's start with the easy part. She is no longer in trouble with the Ministry." Seeing the confused looks he received for his sentence he believed that an explanation was required. "She did not cast any spells this morning."

"If this is the case, then what was all the hubbub with those Ministry lackeys?" Tonks interjected in a surprised and somewhat offended way.

"Ah, but Miss Granger did cast a spell, only not this morning." Due to the unnerving twinkle in his eye, it was sure that this was the cause of his merry attitude. "She had cast it two days before the end of the semester back at Hogwarts. What the Ministry had detected was a flow of magical energy from Hermione at her place of residence, a flow that had been an after effect of the spell she used at Hogwarts. Because the signature of the spell was nothing they could identify, they had labeled it an _unknown charm_ and because of her past, it was decided on the spot, what you already know."

"Albus, what did she do?" It was Professor McGonagall who spoke. Her expression, like the ones of most of those assembled, was one of deep curiosity. A situation like this was of yet unheard of.

"At first not even I could identify the spell. What I did was explain to those from the Improper Use of Magic Office some basic things about incompetence and I also took my time to explain them how to differentiate between the effects of the spells and the spells themselves. Then I had a lovely discussion with Minister Fudge about his new policies, one that… but I digress. Oh, that reminds me!" He turned to Moody. "What did you do with those three from the Ministry?"

"Remember the Perkenton case?" Med-Eye asked back, venom seeping in his voice. Since he had been fired, ahhh retired, from active service, he had a soft spot for the ministry's bureaucrats. Some chuckles and snorts were heard throughout the room.

"That explains it," conceded Dumbledore shaking his head. "Were was I? Oh yes..." Looking at everyone as if he was trying to guess what their reaction at his revelation will be, with careful measured words he told them: "After some quick studying, analyzing the day's events, and after my attempted talk with Hermione… I can tell you that she has performed upon herself and Annamorex Charm." His blue eyes were twinkling madly, his face the perfect incarnation of pride.

"What!" Three shouts could have been heard in the deep silence that followed his words. Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody were the ones who uttered this word, all three of their faces boring similar shocked expressions.

The rest of the crowd was speechless and utterly confused. Not only had they not heard of such a charm, but also they could not put together the expression from Dumbledore's face with the one of consternation and dismay from the faces of their colleagues.

"What!" now that the shock had passed, Professor McGonagall was outraged. "Albus, how can that be? Not even in the restricted section in the Hogwarts Library are such books that describe Annamorex Charms being held. Where has she found them? Better then that, who taught her? And how could she possibly have cast one?"

"There is a room at Hogwarts that sadly lives up to its name Minerva."

"Headmaster," Lupin intervened all of a sudden, "I clearly remember when James, Sirius and I tried to do something similar. As hard as we concentrated, the room failed to produce the books that we required."

"Why or how Miss Granger was successful in her attempt to summon the necessary books, we may never know. I'm afraid that only time will answer this question."

"Albus, what are Annamorex Charms?" Ms. Weasley asked with great concern. "I do not think I have ever heard of them, but judging from the reactions I have just witnessed it's something bad." Ms. Weasley had remained quiet during the meeting, mainly because she could not take her mind from her two youngest children that were now sleeping in an upstairs chamber. Something had happened soon after they went to see Harry and Hermione that left them in dire need of medical assistance. And since the incident, nobody except Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had entered Harry's room.

"There are few who have," the barked voice of Mad-Eye Moody said, "I'm surprised that you know of them, Remus." Remus just shrugged.

"I see that some explanations are needed. Alastor, if you please?"

Mad-Eye scanned the face of his old friend for any signs of doubt, and seeing none, the ex-Auror began in his cracked voice, addressing to the rest of the Order's members:

"The Annamorex Charms are a group of very powerful and difficult to cast charms that have grown into fashion during the early Middle Ages, in a time when muggles weren't as ignorant of the magical world as they are now. The common thread to them is that they all involve the sacrifice of someone's life force to obtain certain results. The charms were commonly used upon soldiers: their life force being bounded to that of their Lord would ensure complete loyalty; a jealous husband would contact the service of a wizard to put an Annamorex Charm upon their wife or lover to ensure her fidelity. Charms like this could turn a human being into a mindless zombie under the complete and utter control of the one whom had he's life force been bound to."

As he spoke the facial expressions of the ones in the audience became dumbfounded. After taking a burly quaff from his hip flask, Mad-Eye went on.

"Wizards have been know to use these charms to practically steal someone's life force and make it there own, thus prolonging their lives; the target in this case would suffer a most unpleasant painful death. Because of these reasons, and others, the Annamorex Charms were labeled as dark magic and are technically considered to be in the same category as the Unforgivable Curses – the Imperius Curse being itself a simplified variation of an Annamorex Charm. In our days only a handful of people, now all of you included, know of their existence, and even fewer have the power and discipline to perform them." He finished with another seep from his flask.

"Albus, are you sure?" Professor McGonagall was the first to break the silence. "Annamorex Charms are extraordinary difficult to cast. Hermione may as well be the smartest witch of her age, but she is only a child. This is all too unbelievable."

"Unfortunately Minerva, I am quite sure. And as for Miss Granger being a child, I have to disagree." His voice became all of a sudden more serious. "If being a child involves making life or death decisions, fighting Death Eaters, going back in time to save supposed criminals from certain death, and casting Annamorex Charms, then yes, Miss Granger is a child. And the same reasoning applies to Harry."

"Has Harry cast one as well?" Lupin asked bewildered.

"No, not that I know of," came Dumbledore's plain, but cryptic, response. It looked like he was about to add something, but it must have been only an impression, because he didn't say anything, and silence descended upon the room.

"Headmaster…" It was Mr. Granger the one who spoke. "This charm my daughter has cast. What did it do?"

"I presume that now you and your wife know the events from a month ago?" After their admission Dumbledore continued. "From what I have understood from your daughter, she wanted to protect herself from ever being in the same situation as Harry. The thought that one day she too could be deceit into a similar situation, one in which one of her loved ones could die, terrified her. So, she took some steps to prevent such a situation from ever happening. So, after she made her plan she went to the Room of Requirements and performed the same charm for each of the three persons that meant the world to her."

Hearing this, Mad-Eye Moody - who was just taking another gulp of whatever was in that flask of his - choked with the liquid, spattering everyone with an artificial rain. "T-t-three times!"

"Miss Granger decided that sacrificing a part of her life force to link herself with these three was a small price to pay for their safety. After the successful casting of the charm, she then would have been able to feel when the people she has chosen were in danger, the moment they, themselves felt it. Sadly, or fortunately, it depends how you look at the situation, the charm worked as she intended only for two of them."

Seeing that nobody was saying anything, and that all of them were urging him with their eyes to continue, the Headmaster did so.

"Between all parents and their children, wizards and muggles alike, there already is a connection, a connection that is established at the birth of the child. This link may get stronger with time, or it may diminish, it all depends upon the relations between the child and his/her parents. In your case, Mr. and Ms. Granger, the connection you had with your daughter was strong enough that it did not require too much effort from her part to reinforce it to her desired purpose. This was not the case for Mr. Potter."

"Headmaster, I do not understand. You said that the charm worked only for the two of us. In this case, why is Hermione upstairs with that boy and not here with us?" Kendal Granger began to raise his voice.

"Mr. Granger, please, let me finish." Albus Dumbledore answered with a calm understanding voice. "I did not say that the charm didn't work. I meanly stated that it worked as she intended only for her parents." Running a hand through his white hair, the Headmaster continued with the explanations. "After successfully casting the charm for them, Hermione encouraged by her achievement, turned to her friend. Applying the same procedure she had used for the first two attempts, she cast the charm for him. It had no effect whatsoever. She tried a few more times with the same result. Disappointed because she didn't know what went wrong, frustrated and exhausted, she decided to try one last time. It worked but not as expected, though she did not know that yet. The strain she had to endure for this last bit of magic to work made her collapse unconscious. During her last casting, Hermione unwittingly changed the charm. Because she feared that she would fail she poured all that she had into the spell. In her mind, knowing when Harry was in danger wasn't enough anymore; she had to help him, she had to be beside him. Thus the purpose of the spell changed as well.

"Usually, when an Annamorex Charm is performed, the donor is unwilling to bend himself to the will of the caster, and the receiver is the one who is more than happy with the gift that he/she is about to receive. This was not the case. Harry didn't know, and Hermione thought that she had failed. Everything changed this morning when Harry was attacked. What happened exactly, I do not know, but I can assume that in the moment he felt that he was going to die, he accepted that which Hermione had given him, sealing the Charm. The flow of energy that traveled from Hermione to Harry after that was what the Ministry registered as an _unknown charm_. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the reason Harry is still alive at this moment."

Again there was silence.

"Can't this spell Hermione has cast, be undone?" Hermione's father seemed to be very agitated. "Don't spells only last for a certain time? What is going to happen from now on with my girl? I want her to have a life and not to be some kind of life saving kit for a boy who, from what I understand, threatens her life with his mere presence?"

"I'm sorry to say this, but Annamorex Charms are definitive. The reason why they are like this is an entirely different matter. The one she has done regarding Harry is no exception. The Power of the Charm compels her to protect him against everything except himself. Dr. Granger, everyone who tries to take her away from him against her will, will be considered an enemy, and I mean everyone. And further more, the spell that she has cast was done so in concordance with her feelings, and thus she doesn't feel any need to fight against it. At this point, we are entitled to say that she has literally given her life to him."

When Dumbledore finished, Louise Granger was crying in the hands of her husband, and Dr. Kendal himself wasn't doing very well either.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, you have not lost your daughter."

"How can you say that? How can you stay so calm, and say something like that?" the hurt was evident in his voice and also in his eyes. "You do not care what happens to her, as long as this Harry is alive. Say it isn't so. Say…" his words were muffled by the fact that his wife has placed her hand on his mouth, shutting him off. If there was the slightest chance that she could have her girl back, she wasn't one to throw it away.

"Let the Professor speak" it was all she has said, and Dumbledore complied.

"She is still Hermione. She is still the same girl with a never ending thirst for knowledge and a will to prove herself. She is the same girl that you have raised and loved since she was a baby. She is the same Hermione with whom you joked and laughed yesterday, and the day before. You still have the same daughter that once she has sat her mind on something will not abandon it no matter what. But at the same time, she is a powerful witch, who has decided that her life wasn't worth living without the boy she loved. Do not condemn her for what she has done. You are still her parents and she loves you like she did before. Go talk to her to better understand her reasoning. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. When you feel ready, go talk to her about this. But I must warn you, as I must warn everybody else in this room. Do not force her to do something against her will. You will be jeopardizing your lives."

Turning to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley Dumbledore's voice turned even more concerned then before.

"Molly, Arthur when Ginny and Ron are awake, please try and explain them the situation. I do not know what went wrong between them and Hermione, she wouldn't say, but if it happens again, the result will be much direr than already is. This time Hermione did not have her wand, which is probably why they are still alive." The elder Weasleys nodded their heads in grim understanding.

Always one for vigilance, Moody couldn't help but ask: "Why did you give her back her wand?"

"I didn't." Like most everything else that the aged headmaster said that night, this managed to confuse his audience yet again. "I merely had it in my possession when I went to talk with her. She sensed it and summoned it to her hand. I did not dare to take it back from her." Now that the problem of Hermione's wand had been properly addressed as well, he turned his attention towards the two dentists.

"Give Hermione time to adjust to her new situation. For now, the only thing we can do for her is try not to stand in her way, and to let her know that her friends still care for her, and especially that she still has her family. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, do you understand this?"

In fact they did not understand any of this. "We need time Professor. We need time. Can we retire to our room now?"

"Of course; Minerva will you show them the way?"

The Grangers, holding each other for support, made their way towards their bedroom accompanied by the transfiguration professor.

The meeting of the Order lasted until the early hours of the morning. Questions were raised, here and there answers were given, and plans were being formulated. It was a usual meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

All in all, it was just a day like any other.


	2. Now You See Us, Now You Don’t

**Disclaimer – **I do not own anything that you might recognize

**Chapter 2 – Now You See Us, Now You Don't**

_Posted February 14th, 2006_

Now that Dumbledore had left her room to attend the Order's meeting, Hermione slipped under the covers of Harry's bed and tried to go to sleep, holding Harry in her arms. She wished she could chase away all the questions and doubts that were stirring in her head.

She didn't want to think. She did not want to be the rational witch she trained herself to be over the years. She did not want to face the consequences of her actions. She did not want to answer all the interrogations her mind was throwing at her. All she wanted to do at the moment was to feel Harry's body beneath her, his warmth heating her, his breathing soothing her.

It was all so easy, not so long ago, when she was still trapped in her glass castle. Brick after brick she had build her own world of illusions and she kidded herself she was happy that way surrounded buy nothing but books and knowledge. She had been only Hermione Granger, bookworm-exceptional, a model witch at Hogwarts and a loving daughter to her parents. It had been safe.

It was a time when dreams were only dreams and nothing more. It was a time when the raven-haired boy was nothing but her dream prince and she was his dream princess. And oh how she lied to herself that that was all he was – a dream. When he was happy, her dreams were cheerful; when he was depressed her dreams were sorrowful... It pained her to see him so downhearted last year. She wanted so much to go to him and tell him what it meant to her – to take away his worry and throw it in the winds...

But she held back, fear overriding her better judgment. If rejected her, her world would have crumbled around her. Then she would have been truly alone; destined to be haunted by empty dreams. Her happiness depended of his own, and if that meant he would not be hers, then so be it.

And now... now she had given him a part of her life, and what came would come. However the price they'd have to pay could be more then both of them had bargained for, but for the moment she just didn't care.

Hermione had let only one question to pass through her barriers; did she have any regrets? She loved Harry; she could admit that now to herself and to the world. Despite her mental prowess, she could not imagine her life without the wizard beside her, for he was now her world, and anything else was on a second place. No, she definitely didn't have any regrets whatsoever.

OoOoOoOoO

The next couple of days that followed did not bring anything exciting in the house from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Everything went into the boring day-to-day routine.

The Weasley matriarch, self proclaimed Almighty Queen of the House, firm believer in the saying, "Lazy hands are the devil's playground," ordered each and everyone she had found sitting idle, to take action in the futile attempts to clean the house. Apparently the house didn't agree with her, because no matter how much they cleaned and swept, by the next morning, the ubiquitous dust was back in its place on the floors and furniture.

To make matters worse, a foreboding presence now loomed on the halls and corridors of the Orders' headquarters. The wizards that stayed overnight could swear in the morning that they heard cracks and whispers emanating from the walls. Some said that they even heard footsteps outside their door, but when they went out to check on it, they found nothing. Torches were refusing to light, or they were lighting on their own, and even the doors started to act funny. First the blame landed on the Weasley Twins, pranksters exceptional. But after vehement denials they were absolved and the futile hunt for the Grimmy Ghost – named so in honor of the house – began.

Monday, Ron and Ginny have spent their day in bed, still not fully recovered. Ginny had absolutely no idea why Hermione had attacked them the way she did. One moment, they were next to her, trying to reassure her, and in the next one she was ordering them to get out in the coldest voice they had ever heard coming from her mouth.

Ron remembered how his legs slowly carried him backward towards the door, followed closely by his sister. He remembered seeing Hermione rising to her feet. And then all thoughts were chased away from his mind by the sharp pain in his chest.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley listened carefully as their children related their story. Ron and Ginny were advised to keep their distance from their friends, advice that was promptly accepted and heeded.

Ron and Ginny were not the only ones who had problems adjusting to the new development between their friends.

Hermione's parents had it the worst. Monday evening they gathered their courage and went to Harry's room to speak with their daughter. Everything went fine at first, Hermione being very glad for the visit. Since she had never come out of the room, this was the first time she had seen them as well, and she was eager to make them understand. She had impatiently waited for this, but after it had passed, she wished it had never happed at all.

She never got the chance to explain herself, as her father made the mistake during his expected cavil to insult Harry. He probably didn't even realize what he said, the word not an insult in itself, but with it, he revealed his feelings for the boy whose hand she was gripping in her hand.

Realizing her father's disapproval of Harry made her momentarily extremely angry. Apparently, whatever had they seen in her eyes in that moment scared them like hell as they went out of the room faster then you could have said quidditch.

She felt their panic through the connection she now shared with them, and it saddened her immensely. They left behind a crying girl who lay on the bad beside the raven-haired boy embracing his body and begging him to return to her.

That night, the Headmaster had a long talk with the bushy haired witch; the result of it being that next day Hermione was seen walking for the first time out of her room and going strait to the basement library.

The huge Black Library, a unique collection of ancient books, first editions, scrolls and parchments had been closed to the residents of the house. While still alive, Sirius stubbornly refused to open its doors. And now that he was dead, none had the knowledge of how to enter it. Not being an emergency, radical measures like blasting the doors open were put on hold.

When Hermione had reached the library's entrance, the doors magically opened in front of her. If she was surprised or not by this, none could tell, her facial features frozen in an unreadable mask. When she left the library, the doors, made from massive black wood sealed themselves behind her.

She met with Ron on the stairs, shocking the boy and forcing him to back away into a wall to make room for her. Who knows what shocked him the most; the haunted look from her cold hazel eyes, the dust and cobwebs that covered her green attire, or the huge stack of books about divination that she balanced in her hands. Maybe it was all of this reasons combined or maybe none at all.

As the days past Hermione retreated more and more into herself, her once life-filled eyes were now two hollow pits. She spent the days reading and taking notes, and the nights holding Harry in her embrace trying in vain to keep him to herself, but despite her efforts, she felt him slipping away more and more as time passed.

Thursday evening Hermione received another visit, in the person of her mother. Louise didn't say much. She just took a seat beside her and watched her only daughter poring over dusty old tomes with pages full of runes searching for answers to questions only she knew.

She looked at Harry, who if it weren't for the slight heaving of his chest, could have been very easily mistaken for a corpse and wondered what was it that Hermione saw in him, that made her commit herself in such a manner. After watching for a bit longer Hermione scribbling down notes on endless scrolls of paper, she got up and kissed her forehead.

"Good night Hermione", and with that she went out of the room, the door closing behind her.

"Good night mother," Hermione answered after the sound of the door reverberated into the room, not for a moment raising her head from her books.

Later that night, Hermione was barely asleep when she was awakened by alarming sensations that were coming from Harry; her bond with him was wavering badly. His despair was the last thing she felt before she had fallen unconscious.

OoOoOoOoO

He felt broken into an infinite number of pieces scattered on a barren plane. There was no beginning here and no end, no landmarks whatsoever. Only an endless horizon that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Seconds passed like years, years passed like ages.

Ages came and went in the blink of an eye, raking away everything in sight with the ease of a child blowing out the light of a candle. Just like the puffs of smoke that remain after a flame drift away into the sky, dispersing all memories of the fire – so did the light inside of him fade away, dragging him into an endless night of forgetfulness.

At first his feelings roamed through him like a pack of wild hippogriffs, shaking the very foundations of his being.

First came Fear flying towards him on wings of ice. He was wrapped in frozen waves of silk; paralyzed from head to toe, unable to move, unable to defend himself from the approaching nightmare. Achieving her mission, Fear slowly retreated into his heart leaving him alone and helpless in her wake.

Lord Pain was next in all his majesty. With the elegance of a dancer, Pain toyed with his defenses. Pain did not approach straight on, nor did he assault in all his rage. He darted from the shadows for blurred, unexpected attacks and retreated just as fast. One by one the last shields were withered; and when that moment came, Pain descended upon the fallen victim with all his ferocity, burning him with a red fire.

He was writhing inside a living inferno; he was being consumed, feeding his essence to the entity that devoured his very soul. And he was screaming.

He screamed at his disability, he screamed at being powerless to stop the torture. He screamed his denial for the entire world to hear, and the sound of his voice reached the farthest corners of his Universe.

Woken by the shrilling cries, Lady Anger arose from the tenebrous abyss in which she resided. With glowing white eyes and pale skin she caressed his face, bringing him a brief moment of serenity before giving herself to the hunger of Lord Pain. The wall of fire that surrounded him grew even larger than before, and the heat began to corrode the fibers of their world.

Though anger was no more, the seeds of her passing had been planted. Draining energy from the blazing flames, the seeds blossomed into the dark and terrible fruit of Hate.

He did not fear Hate, did not cower at the sight in front of him, nor did he try to back away. Instead he welcomed Hate like and old friend with his arms wide open. And they became one, and together they burned with their own black fire, squashing Pain under their heel. But this was not enough to quench the thirst that parched their throat. They wanted more. They wanted revenge.

They ripped the last remaining claws of fear from their heart and melted them into nothingness. Now was the time for everyone to see and feel the anguish they had suffered. They unleashed themselves upon the planes with one thing in their mind: to obliterate each and every thing they met. Their roar shook with frustration when they realized they were truly alone. There was nothing in sight; there was nothing in which to pour their malice.

Well, almost nothing.

Spurred on by hatred, he reached inside his mind and pulled forth memory after memory. He brought them forward and with unbound rancor he broke them apart and tossed them into the winds. He blamed them all. His so called 'family'. His so called 'friends'.

Where were they now? Where were they when he needed them? They were all the same – he could see that now: poor, pitiful excuses for human beings. They were week, and they had passed their sorry weakness on to him. And he hated them for that.

It was so easy; it was so natural to blame them. It felt so right. And another memory was shattered to pieces.

His blind rage continued undaunted until there was nothing left to trash, nothing left to destroy. A long time had passed since he had forgotten the reasons for his actions. He had lost control eons ago – or was it just moments? He didn't care. He was driven only by the power of the black flames. He couldn't stop – he didn't want to stop. To stop meant to allow Pain to return, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

In a frenzied rush he rummaged the remote corners of his past trying to find something else to smash. He nearly tripped upon the ancient trunk. How could he have been so blind? How had he not seen this before? The trunk had been standing there in that one spot for an eternity, but he had just passed beside it every time.

Not this time, he thought with an evil smirk. With a powerful blow he blasted the lid open and pulled out the last remaining memory, laughing manically.

He was close to the edge. Only one more lousy memory to go, and he and Hate would be united forever. No one would stand in their way; he could already feel the unctuous taste of perverted power on his lips. And he craved for it, for this was the only chance he had to escape this hellish prison. The one brittle image that stood now in their path was about to be erased and the merging would finally be complete. And oh how he wanted it.

If this was the case, then why did his laughter choke in his throat – why could he not deliver the final blow with which he would shatter the last shackle that tied him to his past? For now he had no answers to these questions. For now he was content only to gaze upon the crying face that looked at him through cinnamon eyes bathed in sorrow. The crystal clear tears falling upon her cheeks mesmerized him, and he could not stop himself from following their sinuous course.

He did not know who she was; he didn't even know who he was anymore. With only one look at her face he had forgotten everything. This is how the whispers found him – in the middle of nowhere, on the barren plane that was his soul, where time had no meaning. They found him alone, a broken wreck of his former self tossed on the shores of oblivion, shards of his distant past lying at his feet.

The whispers came at her command. They rose from the fragments of his mind to do her bidding. Sounds, images, and feelings slowly started to blend with each other – reforming the puzzle that was him. They flew and swirled around him, reattaching to himself, filling the void. And tear after tear, he began to remember.

Together with the memories, Hate returned as well- more powerful and terrible than before. Only this time it was in the shape of an ethereal shadow that loomed in the back of his mind.

"She... She wants you to return to where the Pain awaits you," the Shadow murmured in his ear, nothing more than a whisper. "She doesn't care for you. She will make you go back to a place where people lie to you, point and stare, calling you names, laugh at your expense. You DO NOT want that. DESTROY HER!"

Images shuffled in front of him. He saw memories of people calling him scarhead, freak, deluded show-off, liar – memories of friends that turned their backs to him, friends that wouldn't even look him in the eye. And family! Family that should have been beside him, but instead decided to treat him like a slave. Was this the world in which he was supposed to live? Suddenly, the suggestion of the Shadow seemed very appealing.

"Yes! Just one swift blow and you will have the world at your fingertips," the Shadow continued with glee and anticipation of the final act. "All those who ever made fun of you will soon lie dead at your feet, and the others will bow to you or share the same fate!"

The images didn't stop there. Frame by frame he witnessed his entire life; he saw the good and the bad; he saw himself stepping through the years, gathering knowledge, having fun with his friends, making mistakes, and fighting for what he believed in. At the end of his mental itinerary he finally found himself resting his eyes upon her delicate features.

At last he could put a name to her face.

"Why? Why won't you destroy her! What is holding you back? What is she to you other than a thorn in your side, a hindrance in your path to greatness?" in a horrendous burst the words fell harshly in his head.

"She- She is my friend, Shadow." As soon as Harry breathed the words, a feeling of peace washed over him, and though still crying slightly, Hermione's lips arched into a smile and her eyes sparkled.

"Your friend? Friendships are of no consequence! You do not need her. You do not need _friends_. You do not need anybody! You need ME! Power is the only thing that matters. Power that was destined to be yours since before your birth!" The words were shouted in rapid crescendo. "What more could she possible give you?"

"Acceptance – not that you could possibly understand the concept," divulged Harry, making one step towards her.

"Why do you want her acceptance? She is just another pathetic mudblood. Like all her filthy kind she will have a sickening life. She WILL get married, she WILL have children and she WILL end by adding her remains to the mud of her fathers. She will be forgotten like all before her. That is the fate of all those who live under the shadow of death. You will n-"

Harry didn't listen anymore.

Just looking at her and knowing she was there for him made the world seem a better place. Seeing her smile, not just with her mouth but also with her eyes, face, with her entire being, made all the pain he'd been through worth it. His heart started to beat in his chest and a warm liquid spread through his body, reinforcing his will to take another step forward.

The Shadow's yells assaulted his ears. "Feelings are nothing! They are just a poor, failed experiment that nature played with us. A monumental joke, a safeguard for the perpetuation of your species. I forbid you to go to her! Loving her will just make you weak. It will be the end of you – and ME as well!"

Love? Harry's eyes locked with Hermione's and for the first time since he could remember he felt whole; at long last Hope had descended upon his shoulders in a white halo of light. In slow motion, Harry raised his hand towards hers, reaching for her fingers.

"No! I am your instinct, I am inside of you! You CAN NOT deny me!" Shifting back to the form of black fire, Hate darted straight to Hermione, engulfing her.

Harry felt her anguish like it was his own. He had gone through this before, but this time – knowing that his Hermione was feeling it as well- it was completely unbearable. Now that he had something worth fighting for, worth suffering for, worth living for, he would not stand idly by and lose her forever. A white fire ignited inside his core, fueled by a feeling of righteous fury.

He ran to her, only to be thrown back by the dark flames. He rose and attacked again and again, trying in vain to create a breach in the battlement, only to find himself beaten off every time. Desperately, he focused his thoughts only on her and his need to protect her. He swore to himself that he would not stop until she was safe and commanded himself not to be deterred from this path. Nothing and no one would make him sway ever again.

With all his determination and might, he sent his will through the black shroud, piercing it and reaching her. He gave her his life force, healing and shielding her. A shimmering sphere of light surrounded Hermione, followed by a blinding flash that left him dazed with his vision blurry.

Breathing hard and trying to recover his vision, the lines between dream and reality started to fade, and for the first time in more than five days he slowly opened his eyes.

Somewhere under a hill it was the Dark Lord's turn to scream.

OoOoOoOoO

Back at Grimmauld Place, in a small room on the second floor, Harry was now fully awake. And the first thing he noticed was that he was not alone in the bed. A warm body was sitting on top of him and it was sobbing, soaking his pajamas with tears. It took him no more then a fraction of a second to positively identify her as Hermione. He knew it was her. How? That was a different question entirely, one who's answer he did not care to know at that particular time. He hadn't even acknowledged the existence of such a question in the first place.

The only thing he felt at the moment was an enormous relief. He had made it! He had reached her! He was free! But… why was she crying then? The nightmare had passed; it was over, wasn't it? Harry wanted to embrace her and to sooth her just like she had done to him, but his arms were refusing his commands. He had tried to say her name, to call her to him, but alas, though his mouth opened no sound accompanied the movement of his lips. He could feel the pressure of her body over his, he could even feel the beating of her heart; she was so close and at the same time so far away…

Quickly running out of options, not knowing what to do, feeling like a prisoner in his own body he began to frenetically toss his head sideways hoping that the movement would come to the attention of the young witch.

A loud hoot came from the perch near the bed, and a flock of white feathers flew and landed near Harry's side and started playfully to nibble in his ear. Distracted by the clutter of wings, Hermione lifted her head, only to be frozen in place a second later by the piercing gaze of two green eyes that she knew so well. As unaccounted moments passed, they looked at each other and nothing else mattered in their small world but the light in their eyes.

"Harry! Y-you're back…" and as she smiled fresh tiers washed her face. "You're back, Harry! Oh I'm so glad that you are all right! How are you feeling? I thought I've lost you… What can I do for you Harry? Harry, why don't you move? Talk to me, please…Is something wrong?"

As the level of her anxiety was reaching new peaks, Hermione took a break from her tirade to look more carefully into his pleading confused eyes. The sudden influx of blood to her brain had left her momentarily light-headed, and as she saw herself reflected in those two deep green pools of his, a shiver rocked her body making all her muscles tighten.

Looking at the girl – no, not a girl, but young woman – that was standing on top of him Harry thought that he had not seen something more beautiful in his entire life. His attention was captures by the brown-yellow swirls of light from her eyes that looked at him like he was the only thing left in the Universe – her eyes that now seemed to ask in a language long forgotten in the recesses of time if he trusted her. How he wished in that moment to be able to move, to be able to open his mouth and utter his response. Not even spearing a thought at the oddness of the situation, he nodded his head in approval.

Harry saw Hermione leaning forward, cupping his head with her gentle hands. He watched as she lowered her forehead to his, not for a moment loosing her gaze. And as she closed her eyes he did the same.

All he could feel in that moment was her; the warmth of her skin caressing his face, the tickle of her breath mingling with his own, her weight assuring him that he was safe. A tingling began to make its presence known in his body. It started with his extremities, and now it was spreading throughout his entire system in a rapid pace. And as he felt his strength returning to his arms and legs, he noticed Hermione falter above him, getting weaker by the moment.

All his senses screamed DANGER and letting out a sudden breath Harry's arms darted straight to Hermione's shoulders pushing her up. The contact between their foreheads ended abruptly and she lost her balance, falling off the bed with a loud thud.

Aware of what just occurred, Harry made to get off the bed as well to check on her. Still not heaving perfect control over his body did not help him very much, because a moment later he was pilled in a heap at the base of the bed near her. To his dismay he saw her curled into a ball clutching her head, her face twisted in pain. He dragged himself to her; propping on his right elbow he pushed himself in a seating position. He then reached out to Hermione and took her in his arms, letting her rest her head on his left shoulder.

"I'm so sorry Hermione… so sorry…" rocking back and forward he continued with his litany in barely more then a whisper until he felt her relax in his arms.

"Please forgive Hermione, I-"she silenced him by placing a small finger on his lips.

"It's my fault; I should have told you what I intended to do."

"Shhh... it's nobodies fault..." Harry closed his eyes, resting his head on top of hers, waiting for his strength to return to his limbs. Hermione clang to him, afraid to let go for fear she would lose him again.

"Why?" Harry asked after a while. His _dream_ had flashed in front of his eyes and there was no doubt in his mind that the only reason he did not succumb to whatever the _Shadow _had installed for him was currently seating in his arms. And he desperately wanted, needed, to know why.

She was too far in the game to hide behind pretenses and half-truths. So she answered the only way she could.

"I love you, I need you, I want you to be mine."

Hearing what she said, Harry tightened the hold he had on her, and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding.

"Hermione, that was blunt," he laughed goodheartedly.

"I've come to think that life is way too short not to take the chances that are offered to us. And Harry, I really do want there to be an _us_."

"You were afraid I was going to reject you, weren't you?" he asked her when he noticed she began to breath normally again. She didn't say anything, so he took that as a _yes_. "I might have, before... but not now. The circumstances as they were forced me to rethink my priorities. And it's entirely your fault," he admonished in mock chagrin. "Did you just say you loved me?"

"That I did, and I do," Hermione informed him with all the seriousness she could muster.

"I trust and respect you, Hermione. Always did, always will. But, above all, I want you to be happy and safe. And I _am_ attracted to you. Do all of these translate to love?"

"Harry, not everything can be slit into tiny pieces and analyzed under a microscope, you know that. And love is one of these things; you don't need somebody to tell you you're in love. You simply know."

"Wasn't I supposed to tell you something like this?" he grinned, and she did the same. "And you're right. I do love you Hermione. It would be hard not to after all that we've been together."

When he finished his last words, Hermione pressed her lips to him in a gentle, tender kiss, like all first kisses should be.

OoOoOoOoO

Several hours had passed since Harry had now returned from never-never land. Several hours spent talking, kissing and eating, in no particular order.

By that time, Harry's neck wound had healed, but nobody figured out just who or what had caused it, and Harry had no idea either. All he remembered was going to sleep Saturday night after a perfectly normal day at the Dursleys.

The news that Hermione knew spells the likes of Annamorex charms was not earth shattering for Harry; knowing that she used them for him and because of him, was. And he reaffirmed his decision to not let anybody or anything harming her ever again. If she was to be his guardian, then he would be hers as well.

Knowing how Hermione gathered her arcane knowledge, almost made him roll his eyes; almost, for he didn't have any kind of death wish hanging over his head. Since Dobby the house elf showed them the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, Hermione had been abusing it to her nefarious purposes. Exploiting the perks that came with her prefect status she had been sneaking almost daily after curfew to the magical chamber.

Everything she wanted to read, the room provided. She had been a little disappointed when she couldn't take the books out of the room, but it passed quickly. She had been researching the unforgivables in the hope of finding more about how they worked, their creators, their history, or how to fight them. From book to book, she found the Annamorex charms. And everything else since then was history.

They were now seating at the room's table, having just finished eating some pumpkin pie, and Hermione was explaining to him what she knew about prophecies with the help of the notes she had compiled.

Outside, heavy dark clouds loomed dangerously in the night sky. It started with a single bolt of lighting that split the heavens apart, followed quickly by a deafening thunder that rattled the windows of the house. Like all that they waited for was this one signal, innumerable drops of water began to fall down spraying the streets of London.

Harry looked out the window at the downpour outside.

"Hermione, do you like thunderstorms?" he asked her pointing at the fermenting nature.

"I didn't pay too much attention to them as I grew up," she confessed putting down the scroll she was holding in hand. "While I was a kid I didn't play outside, so it didn't quite matter to me how the weather was. And if the storm happened at night, I couldn't care less. I slept through them like a baby."

"Really? Then I guess it's about time you got acquainted with them, don't you think so?"

No, she did not think so at all. And she certainly did not like the mischievous smile Harry was sporting all of a sudden.

He nimbly got up from the armchair, and looked around the room. He spotted a cloak hung over a chair and he promptly threw it to an open mouthed Hermione. It landed unceremoniously on her head. When she finally got it off, he was wearing his own. He slipped into a pair of shoes, and urged Hermione on.

"Come one Hermione, that storm won't last forever, you know?"

"You really like your storms, don't you?" she chuckled at his enthusiasm. She draped her cloak over her shoulders and stretched her hand, summoning her wand to her hand, all the while studying his face. She saw no surprise at her display of wandless magic. She frowned.

"Harry, why aren't you surprised by this?" she inquired waving her wand in front of him.

"After what you told me you did, I wouldn't be surprised if you could do a lot more wandless magic than this," he told her, and she was glad to hear the pride in his voice. "Besides, I can do it as well." He supported his claim by imitating what she did earlier. It was her time not to be surprised. But Harry was looking strangely at his wand.

"What is it Harry? Is something wrong with your wand?"

"No, not as far as I can tell. Hermione, I knew I could do this, because I've done it before. But I always had to concentrate to a certain extent in order to succeed. Now, I barely formed the thought, when the wand was already in my hand. Strange."

A particularly powerful thunder spooked Hedwig who hooted, admonishing the nature for the impudence of waking her.

"Hedwig, are you coming with us?" Harry received a blank stare from his familiar, one that clearly notified him that he wasn't in his right mind to suggest such an outrageous thing from her. Hedwig regally tucked her head under her wing and she went back to sleep, but not before turning her back to him.

"Oh well, let's go Hermione, we don't want to be late."

In fact, Hermione truly wanted to be late. And as Harry guided her out the door and into the hall, she really envied Hedwig for having the nerve to refuse Harry.

They started to make their way across the empty halls of the manor, carefully not to make a sound which would awake the other residents of the house.

"Harry, the door is downstairs; you know that, don't you?" Hermione asked a bit puzzled about their course. Harry laughed quietly.

"Ha, ha, very funny Hermione. Sirius once told me about a passage that takes you to a terrace on the roof. He said that the entrance is behind a painting on the second floor. It should be somewhere around here… He told me that it leads to an isolated place perfect for contemplating."

While he spoke about his godfather Harry's voice become more pensive as he remembered the moments he had spent with his father's best friend. He felt as Hermione slipped one hand around his waste and he did the same just as they reached the wanted canvas.

The picture was that of a volcano, and an active one at that. Clouds of smoke were emanating from crater, and molten rocks flowed downhill with generosity. In fact, streams of magma were coming out of the picture, dripping down the wall and pooling on the floor.

Harry tapped the picture with his wand, and told it the password: Lava Flakes. Careful not to touch the small pool of molten rock, they stepped together in the newly revealed corridor. A row of moving stairs lit by torches made their ascension to the roof very easy.

"Harry, who knows about these stairs?" Hermione asked when they began climbing up.

"Besides the two of us?" She nodded. "Nobody. Not anymore..." Harry stopped with a far away look in his eyes.

"I killed him, Hermione."

"What? Say that again Harry."

"He broke out of jail for me, and I kill him. Quite a way to repay him, don't you think so?"

"No Harry, I don't think so," she furiously shook her head. "Are you the one who pointed your wand at him?" Hermione, in a very realistic impersonation of Professor McGonagall, jabbed him very unladylike with her right index finger in the chest.

"No, but-"

"Did you force him to come after you?" another poke in his chest. "Did you gave him an ultimatum threatening him to come after you _or else_?" two more nudges accompanied her last words.

"No, but that's not t-"

Framing his head with her hands, she looked lovingly into his eyes. "If I would fall into a trap would you come to rescue me?"

"Of course!"

"And if you died in the process, would you hold me responsible for your death?"

"NO!"

"Then this discussion is over Harry. We are all responsible for our own actions. And you are NOT to blame yourself for his death." She spoke with such conviction that Harry was sure he would have to face divine retribution if he would ever dare to doubt her words. "He loved you Harry. You cannot expect him to have stayed behind while you were in danger... I know I couldn't-"

"Don't speak like that Hermione..." Only the prospect of a life without her sent chills down his spine. "I couldn't bear to lose you..."

"Then you won't. You have a part of me inside of you, and as long as you keep it near your heart, you'll never lose me Harry." And Harry believed – what other choice did he have?

"You know," Harry began after taking a seat on the now still stairs. "I never did know him very well." Hermione knelt beside him. "But I could have. And through him, maybe I might have known my parents better. But all I have from him now is an illusion, and all I can do is wonder what his life's purpose was. Or for that matter, what is mine..."

"I know what your purpose in life is Harry. There's no mystery to that," she informed him matter of fact.

"You do?"

"Of course, I'm Hermione, the amazing book worm," she proclaimed smugly, eliciting a laugh from him. "I know everything."

"That you do. So enlighten me, oh Mistress of Knowledge!"

She leaned in close to him, so close that she could feel his breath on her face.

"You have no other purpose then to make my dreams came true, and make me the happiest woman of the face of the Earth. It's that simple. Do you understand? Good. Now kiss me."

And so he did.

OoOoOoOoO

Just after dawn, the storm stilled raged outside, and Ronald Weasley couldn't sleep. Considering that this, alongside eating and quidditch were his favorite activity, it meant without a doubt, that something wasn't right.

_Oh, maybe it has something to do with the fact that everybody in this bloody house is about to jump at each other's throats… No! You really think so?_

_Now I'm even talking with myself, that's a new one, what next I wonder?_

With a loud grunt he stuck his head under a huge pillow to silence the voices.

_That really helped! You know we should do this kind of stuff more often._

"Oh, SHUT UP!" He rolled over in his bed and threw the pillow in the wall in front of him.

He pulled himself out of the covers and started pacing in the room - the same room that last year he had sheared with Harry.

He was thinking, trying to analyze to the best of his abilities, the predicament in which he was stuck. He was good at tactics; he loved playing chess; he could find ways to escape the most dangerous situation and bring his opponent to checkmate without too much trouble. But right now, none of his abilities were of any good in providing him with a solution to the problems he faced at the moment.

All his problems revolved around a wizard and a witch known by the names of Harry and Hermione. He clearly remembered the day when he and Ginny stepped into their room. The experienced was firmly burned in his mind, a scar, a landmark of his world tumbling down.

He kept seeing it, every time he closed his eyes. Her right hand slowly rising with its fingers wide spread and the palm pointing at him. It had been that moment when he had began to back away, his sister behind him. Unfortunately his retreat hadn't been fast enough for her. Ron wasn't sure, but he thought he saw her entire arm bursting all of a sudden in cold blue flames. And then he remembered nothing but the pain he felt as his ribs caved in under the power of her spell. He had the feeling that for him nothing would ever be the same again.

He shook his head to cast aside the painful memory, and resumed his pacing only to be interrupted by a scream down the hall.

He rushed towards the source of the sound; Harry's room. His mother and Professor McGonagall were speaking animatedly in front of the open door. By now almost the entire mansion was awake, everybody coming to the source of the commotion. He approached the door fearing the worst.

Looking inside he was shocked buy what he saw. He saw nothing; nothing at all. The room was empty. No Harry and no Hermione whatsoever.

OoOoOoOoO

A fantastic display of light and sound greeted Harry and Hermione as they finally stepped onto the roof. Harry lowered himself under the eaves with his back reclined against the wall. He pulled Hermione with him, and she cuddled straddling his lap. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, her arms going around him, hugging him.

They sat like this, listening as the drops of rain fell from the sky to splatter themselves around them. Lightning and thunder kept them company as they watched the clouds battle viciously for supremacy above.

Despite the storm around them, they felt at peace in each other hands. And as lighting began to illuminate the murky morning, the night faded into day, taking with it the gloomy thoughts that had hunted their mind.

The light of dawn found the two of them with ruffled hair – one the colour of the deepest night, the other one like molten chocolate, dark rings around their eyes and rumpled clothes. Bust most importantly, the corners of their lips were tilted upwards in a ghostly smile, a welcomed complement to their now lively eyes.

Minutes past by unnoticed by the two. Content as they were, time was of no concern on their small island in the rain.

All was good until a loud CRACK somewhere on their left sprang them back abruptly to reality.

Hermione's heart almost jumped out of her chest and she instantly rolled in Harry's embrace, her wand appearing in her right. Harry was already playing with his own wand. Without much thought, without even taking a better look, as one they let out two jets of red light in the direction of the sound. Both spells hit their mark, freezing Mad-Eye Moody, a look of stupor on his face.

It was his mistake that he scared the young witch and the wizard. It was his mistake that he did not take into account the slippery surface of the terrace. It was his mistake he apparated so near the edge of the rooftop. He realized all this just before he took a tumble down the roof.

Harry and Hermione jumped instantly to their feet, their hearts pounding to pierce their chests. Both their bodies were tightened to the extreme, ready to erupt in action, their senses bent to discover any other potential threats.

Putting aside the fact that they might just have killed a man – the boy wizard shuddered at the thought – Harry was feeling very uneasy. Something was terribly wrong, he could just feel it. With one look at the witch that stood beside him he got his confirmation; she was feeling the same.

Hermione carefully swapped her wand to her left hand. Right or left, it didn't matter where she kept it; it was all the same for her.

Harry slipped his hand into hers, the warmth of his touched giving her the strength and assurance to fight the nagging sensation of impeding doom that had formed in the back of her mind. She turned her head to look at him, locking her eyes with his. She saw him nodding; clenching her wand more firmly in her hand, they both walked in the rain with careful measured steps.

Undaunted by the troubles of mortals the curtain of water poured down from the ashen heavens soaking everything in its path. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger convinced themselves of this fact the hard way, as soon as they stepped out from the protection of the eaves, for almost immediately their clothes hanged on them like a second skin. They slowly made their way across the slippery surface towards the place Mad-Eye had just been moments earlier. Approaching the edge of the roof Hermione became acutely aware about the height of the place. And she remembered why she didn't enjoy flying: the ground was way too far away for her liking. As Harry leaned foreword to take a look, Hermione remained a step behind, without letting go of the grip she had on him.

On the fresh-green lawn in front of the mansion Harry saw Mad-Eye's body stretched across the grass in an awkward posture. He didn't appear to be moving. Two people came rushing out of the house. The first one, with sleek black hair and robes to match kneeled beside the old Auror and began to give him what it look like first aid. Seeing the mop of red hair that covered the head of the second one, Harry was sure that he was one of the Weasley brothers, but which one, he couldn't say for sure. And judging by the fact that he wore only a lanky T-shirt it appeared that he hadn't planned his impromptu bath. On a whim, the red haired guy looked up strait to Harry.

"Up there!" both Harry and Hermione clearly heard Ron's shout over the rattle of the storm. The kneeled wizard immediately turned his head up to look at Harry as well. Even through the drops of rain that garnished his glasses Harry could see a crooked nose pointed at him in the middle of a morbid face.

Without wasting any time Snape drew his wand and sent a spell directly at Harry, its incantation muffled by the storm. With a clap, a dazzling bright blue ribbon of energy sizzled through the air towards the roof. In that moment Harry found out – not without a small amount of pride – that his reflexes had not yet abandoned him. He hurled his body backwards as hard as he could, considering the situation.

Hermione sensing the danger braced herself and tugged fiercely on his hand as well. The two movements combined, and their common result was that Harry landed roughly on his back. The good part was that he avoided the assault, the spell straying into the sky. The bad part was that his head, after rudely being acquainted with the hard floorage, was refusing to cooperate with the rest of his body. Through a pounding headache Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione trying to get him to his feet when he heard a loud CRACK resonating somewhere near him.

Harry sensed more the saw Hermione as she rotated on her feet shouting _Protego!_ By doing so, she deflected the Expelliarmus back to Snape who dodged sideways to avoid his own spell. Harry flipped on his belly stubbornly trying to scramble to his feet, refusing to listen to the protests of his body. He was just in time to hear his most esteemed professor splutter an unintelligible word. A fist-sized chromatic ball flashed from his wand and Harry saw it passing through Hermione's shield. In front of his unbelieving eyes Harry saw her trying to avoid the magical missile. She slipped on the wet surface and the spell caught her in the forehead, snapping her head backwards. She felt without letting a sound pass through her lips.

Harry couldn't believe what was happening. One moment he was holding Hermione in his arms, and next he was witnessing her body sprawled on the wet terrace. And Snape was smirking at him for crying out loud! An astute observer would have had no problems to discern the sinister glint reflected in his dark eyes, his entire demeanor shouting that Christmas has indeed came earlier this year. Astute he may have been, but making observations was quite at the bottom of Harry's priorities at the time. Harry could see her lying near him, but at the same time it was like she wasn't there at all. The discrepancy in what his senses were telling him and the painfully physical loss he felt in the middle of his chest made him lose his mind.

All that he wanted was to hurt the thing in front of him. He wanted to jump at him and smash his sorry excuse of a face in a million of pieces. Above all he wanted to make him pay for hurting and taking away his beloved. He forgot about his wand, about being a wizard, about magic. His eyes darkened, and all his rational functions went into a temporary shut down. Harry launched himself into a sprint towards Snape; his clenched fists were held high, a feral roar building in his throat.

Snape grinned. He sidestepped from Harry's path without breaking a sweat. A fraction of a second later he jammed his right fist into the boy's jaw sending his body whirling. Just before his face connected hard with the ground a thought crept into Harry's consciousness that something might be amiss with his plan of retribution.

Snape came to him, and using his right foot with all the delicacy he could muster turned Harry's body on his backside. Without losing the smirk he had plastered on his face he casually pointed his wand at the boy's head and murmured "_Legilimens_!"

Instead of the stream of images he expected a wall of anger and despair greeted him. _Silly boy_ he thought. With the skill that only a time long practice could confer Snape passed through it without even being bothered in the slightest. In his search for Harry's memories he was mildly surprised when he encountered some rudimentary mental defenses. He didn't believe that the boy had the talent and ability to even conjure these pathetic protections. There was something unusual about them, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't have much time, and besides, this was Potter – he didn't believe that the boy's feeble brain could resist his intrusion, and let's not even talk about subtlety! He smashed them without a thought and passed through.

And his heart almost stopped, goose bombs rising on his skin. There was nothing there! Just a plain field spread across an endless nothingness. Everywhere he looked the same gray space stretch as far as his eyes could see.

Snape always thought that there was nothing in the boy's head, but this was ridiculous. In a sparkle of genius he understood – this bizarre space, the weird walls around it… He put them together and he realized. This place was not built to resist outside intrusions! In was design to keep something inside! He was in a prison! He hadn't had too much time to marvel at his discovery, for he was not alone… Out of nowhere a wall a black fire erupted around him. To his relief the pure hatred and insatiable hunger he felt coming from the flames was the last thing he perceived on a conscious level. The Shadow had just found out another victim – feeding time had come again.

Harry was helpless to stop Snape's attack. To his horror he could feel the lousy git entering the last place he wanted to be disturbed. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He sensed the Shadow stirring inside his mind. He felt its glee as it assaulted the intruder. He felt it getting stronger. NO! He would not allow it! He would not allow the Shadow to reign upon him ever again! Out of desperation he tapped into some reserves of power – Merlin only knows where he had found them – and he pushed Snape with all that he had out of his mind and back into his own body.

Snape's body felt on the floor, the rain not heaving too many problems washing the streams of blood that emanated from him. When Snape was finally gone from his mind, a band of polka dancing trolls immediately took his place, bumping and trashing through his already sour head. Despite the mess hiss brain was at the moment, Harry allowed himself a small inner smile at the frustration of his own personal daemon who screamed alone in its cage. His joy's life was torn apart almost immediately by the realization of where he was and how he got there…

He opened his eyes and was startled to see the world like though a kaleidoscope – his glassed hadn't made it unscathed from the fight, for several cracks had camped nicely on his lances. The head of a girl obscured the view of the cheerless gray cloud ceiling that sifted drops of water from above. He saw her through his broken glasses, and couldn't help the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards, relief washing over him. She gave him a small smile as well.

"Get up Harry!" she ordered hurriedly braking the tender moment. "We need to get out of here before others arrive."

She slipped her hands under his shoulders and pulled. Harry recognized the urgency in her plea and couldn't agree more. With her help he finally managed to climb to his feet. And the former little band of trolls in his head suddenly multiplied to frightening numbers. Hermione didn't let him to wallow in his pain, for as soon as he reached an upright position, she shoved his wand back into his grip. She grabbed him by his other hand and together they made their way as fast as they could towards the place from which they immerged on the terrace.

Her last words didn't take long to prove their prophetic origin. Before making two steps, Harry and Hermione heard three loud cracks when two more wizards apparated on the roof near Snape's body. They had their backs turned at the two teens – their mistake.

Not taking any chances, Harry whirled around. In the daze in which waddled his brain, he couldn't think of any spell. He just wanted them out of the game, and his magic obeyed. Whatever came out from the tip of his wand split itself in three, putting an end their threat.

Harry didn't have time to wander what the hell just happened. Hermione, as puzzled as she might have been tugged on his hand urging him not to stop, for the feeling of danger was back into their minds, if it had ever left at all. Holding on to each other they dashed towards the wall that was supposed the have a door. Approaching the place, the door morphed smoothly into the wall. It swung easily inward and the two of them pelted inside just in time. Behind them a multitude of CRACKS were heard, signaling the arrival of yet more wizards. The door latched itself shut behind them, but not before they heard someone shout from the roof.

"THERE THEY ARE! AFTER THEM!"

"_Colloportus_!" once inside Hermione gasped at the door sealing it. Without waiting to see if the charm held or not, she and Harry bolted down the stairs. They had not descended far on the spiraling staircase when an explosion rocked the ground from beneath their feet, sending them tumbling down through a cloud of dust. Whoever were those who apparated on the terrace, they decided that it was not the time for fancy tactics – they just blew the door apart, no questions asked. Once at the base of the stairs Harry and Hermione scrambled to their feet. They were panting heavily, but at least they were glad they hadn't acquired any broken bones, only several bruises to add to their already extensive collection.

They looked at each other, the same question mirrored in their eyes. What to do? They had absolutely no idea what was going on. Should they stay and fight, or should they open the portrait hole and go into the main house and face what's there? At least here they knew what to expect… Why where they after them? Did Voldemort attack? Why was Ron against them? This was the Headquarters of the Order Of the Phoenix after all and it was supposed to be unplottable… If they were not Death Eaters, then why was the Order fighting them? So many questions, so little time… Their silent chitchat was abruptly put to an end by a voice from far above.

"MISS HERMIONE, HARRY! THIS IS JUST A HUGE MISUNDERSTANDING!" It was a woman's voice that came down the stairs – soft and carrying, despite of all the yelling. "WE MEAN YOU NO HARM!"

_Weird way of showing it though,_ Harry thought with bitterness.

"JUST DROP YOUR WANDS AND CLIMB SLOWLY UP THE STAIRS WITH YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!" The women called again. "EVERYTHING WILL BE CLARIFIED IN JUST A MOMENT!"

"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT'S GOING ON?" it was Harry's turn to shout. He then cursed himself when his larynx protested for being overused.

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS BOY!" a gruffly male voice retorted. "COME HERE THIS INSTANT!" The man demanded in an angry bark. An image of his uncle's purple face, spit coming out of his mouth, flashed in front of Harry's eyes.

Harry's temper began to boil – another one who demanded things from him. "Do you trust them?" Harry mouthed to Hermione. Hermione – who looked like she was about to bursting out off indignation – flipped her head from side to side in denial.

"WE JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!" Hermione adhered to the yelling contest.

"SURE YOU DO! JUST COME HERE ALREADY!" the woman was prompt to respond, her voice just a tad hoarsely.

"NO!" Hermione challenged. "IF YOU WANT US, COME AND GET US!"

Hasty voices could be heard from upstairs – it sounded like a brief quarrel. Then silence. As moments passed, the feeling of danger only amplified itself in the back of Harry and Hermione's heads. And when a squeak came from a few steps above, just after the bend of the stairs, Harry snapped into action.

He had had enough. First Moody came after them, then Ron betrayed them to Snape who attacked them managing to harm Hermione in the process and also violating his mind, then these people blew a hole in a wall just to get them, pretending to have nothing but their best interests at heart. He just wanted to be left alone, somewhere peaceful, with Hermione in his arms for the rest of eternity. And these impudent fools were doing their best to prevent him from achieving his goal.

Harry whipped his wand foreword as he tried to channel as much power into the spell. He held his wand steady for a second, and then he rotated it clockwise once with a small flick of his wrist. In its motion, the tip of the wand left an orange trail of fire in the air. When the blazing circle was completed, a rapidly growing sphere of bright orange flames was hovering in front of his wand.

The incantation quietly escaped from his lips, "_Inferno,_" and the flaming ball, now the size of a quaffle, dashed up the stairs.

When she saw him beginning to cast the spell, Hermione's eyes bulged in their orbits. Flabbergasted as she might have been due to his outrageous choice of retaliation, she managed to snap quickly back to reality.

Still holding her wand in her left hand, she moved it as fast as she could in a wide circular pattern in front of her, all the while shouting "_FLAMEN MAXIMA!_" Suddenly, all the air around them began to move with an incredible speed forward, following the direction of Harry's spell.

Harry and Hermione finished their spells at the same time, and then they dropped abruptly on the ground, huddling together, trying to protect each other from what was about to come.

When the fireball detonated mere moment later, the house shook from all its hinges. As the flames propelled up the stairs, the walls of the house began to protest, and cracks began to appear in the ceiling of the corridor.

Thanks to Hermione's wind spell she and Harry were spared from the fire and the heat. Regrettably it didn't offer too much protection against the massive wood beams and bricks that felled on top of them. In just a few seconds it was all over – only a pile of rubble remained where the corridor had once been.

OoOoOoOoO

Somewhere, an undetermined amount of time later, Hermione awakened from her deep slumber with a sudden jerk – which she regretted immensely afterwards. To try and move when her body was numb from head to toe was not an experience she was willing to undertake again. A small groan escaped her lips when she began to flex her arms and legs to work the kinks out of her system.

When she finally felt in control enough of her own body she made the first attempt at opening her eyes. Her eyelids, still heavy with dizziness parted for just a splint and shivers run down her spine.

Blood! There was blood everywhere – on the floor, on the furniture, on the walls! She put her hands to her eyes to stop the visions, but even they where bathed in gruesome red. Shaking, with a muffled cry she jumped to her feet receiving painful remainders from her muscles that she was far from being in a top notch condition. The frenetic movements of her head from left to right came to a stop not long after as her eyes landed on a massive crystal in the middle of the dome shaped room.

The eight feet height red rhombic crystal was embedded in a truncated pyramid like pedestal. Light was emanating from it splashing everything with a nice crimson colour. Having now found the explanation for the _blood_ that stained pretty much everything around her, her mind was able to sort through her priorities. And the first one was Harry.

Hermione hastily scanned the planking of the room. She found him several feet across the room, sprawled on the floor. She ran to him. Harry was still out, but his breathing was steady, and his face seamed to be relaxed. A lot more at ease now that he seamed to be relatively in one piece, she allowed herself a breath of relief.

His clothes were now dry but a layer of dust covered his entire body; taking a look at herself the witch realized that she didn't fare too much better either – nothing that a _scourgify_ wouldn't cure. She picked up Harry's wand from near his body – it felt warm and welcoming in her hand – and an _Accio_ later, her own wand was in her other hand. She wasted no more time in proving her theory. After two muttered cleansing spells she and Harry were a little more presentable; at least some of the dust was no more…

Hermione levitated Harry's still sleeping body to the room's single bed, laying him carefully on his back. Hermione touched the tip of her wand to Harry's glasses. She whispered a soft _Reparo_ and she waited patiently as the lances rearranged themselves into a smooth unclipped surface. She pressed her lips on his forehead in a gentle caress and tucked herself beside him. She perched her head on top of his chest, draped an arm around him and fell asleep, oblivious to anything else around her.

Hours later, Harry finally came back to his senses, feeling refreshed and ready to face any perils that might come his way. With his eyes still closed he could feel Hermione's warm body cuddling him. He carefully turned in her arms as not to disturb her and he hugged her as well. Annoyed that her pillow had moved, she muttered some unarticulated words. Still asleep, she then tightened the grip she had on him, and relaxed, a content smile creasing her face.

Amused by her antics, Harry opened his eyes to look at her. And just like Hermione, he was shocked at the gruesome decor. But seeing her smile all the worries he might have had flew out the window. Who needed to know what had happened, who cared where they were or how they got there as long as she was smiling? He smiled as well.

Driven by curiosity, he crooked his neck to take a sweep of the room. Immediately his attention was grabbed by the soft glowing crystal. With the outmost care he disentangled from Hermione and stepped on shaky legs towards it.

He tentatively raised his left hand to touch its surface. He was surprised to find out that it was warm and soft to the touch, and not cold and hard as he expected it to be. Intrigued, he brought forward his other hand as well and pushed slightly.

Ripples started to form under the palms of his hands, distorting the smooth facade. Streams of yellow light radiated from the structure and Harry was suddenly absorbed inside.

The fluctuating light in the room startled Hermione from her nap. She was scared at not having a sleeping Harry beside her, so she spun around almost falling out of bed in an attempt to locate his presence.

She found him standing with his hands pressed on the surface of the crystal, a look of concentration etched on his face. She made to jump to him, to pull him aside. She stopped half-way there when she checked the feelings coming from the bound she had with him. As far as she could tell, he did not consider himself to be in any sort danger; on the contrary; he felt quite safe doing whatever it was he was doing.

Now _she_ was intrigued. She went to him with small steps and slipped her hands around his waist.

"Harry..." she whispered softly in his right ear trying to get his attention.

It worked.

"I'm here Hermione," he responded in kind, as quiet as she asked. "Please, step in front of me, between my arms and place your hand on top of my own."

Curious, she followed his instructions. She placed her hands as he told her to, and then she leaned into his chest, waiting.

She didn't have to wait long, for she too felt like she was absorbed inside the crystal.

A small disturbance later that left her a little woozy, she found herself in... in the middle of nowhere? Before she had time to panic, a welcoming presence made itself known beside her.

"I'm here Hermione" she heard Harry's soothing voice. "Welcome to the forefront of your mind!" he told her more then slightly amused by her confusion.

Words had failed her for the moment, so she just sat there unable to make a sound.

"This is the borderline between our minds. A place where legilimens and other specialists in mind magic can use to talk with each other in relative privacy," Harry explained to her, matter of fact.

"How do you know this?" she asked impressed by what she heard.

"She told me."

"SHE!"

Just then Hermione felt another presence beside her, not like Harry's at all, alien and strange, but at the same time radiating... fidelity?

"Hermione," Harry, not forgetting his good manners, started the introductions, "meet Crystal. Crystal, meet Hermione."

A wave of _something_ washed over Hermione, and she felt Crystal's joy and delight at meeting her.

"Hello," Hermione tentatively offered in return, and again she experienced the same delight she felt earlier.

"Should I be jealous, Harry?" she asked with a mental smirk.

"Not at all Milady," Harry answered cheerfully giving her a _hug_. "You are the only one for me." Hermione returned his _hug_ gladly, and they both turned their attention back to Crystal who waited patiently for them.

"So Harry, Crystal is the crystal, right?" she asked somewhat awed, as soon as the realization struck her.

"Yes she is," he replayed proudly. "She was created about four hundred years ago by Archibald Black. Judging from what I know now, he was quite the Enchanter, a true master of the craft. He made Crystal as an experiment to better control the wards around his estate. Crystal wasn't even supposed to exist in its current form, but during creation, one of the spells failed, and his wife who was helping him died in the process. Apparently, a small part of her was absorbed in the focus crystal as well, giving it something akin to a conscious. Ironical enough, Archibald's wife's name was Crystal, and that's how he named her, in her memory."

"Wow," Hermione said. "Harry, not that I'm complaining, but how do you know all this? Is Crystal able to talk?" Hermione felt another wave of _something_ touching her, one that she had no trouble interpreting it as _no_.

"No Hermione, she can not. Archibald kept Crystal a secret from the rest of family. This room is about sixty feet under what is now known as Black Manor. After Archibald's death, Crystal was supposed to make itself known to the next head of the Black Family. She didn't. For a reason or another, she rejected them all; until Sirius died and I was brought here more dead then alive. Last Christmas, while Sirius was still alive, he keyed me to the wards as his heir. For you see, though nobody knew about Crystal, all the Black's wards from Archibald's time are anchored in this focus crystal. Archibald had done such a great job that no one after him bothered to raise others. And only the knowledge of how to key somebody to them had been past through generations. And even so, unknown to him, the master of the House only had partial control of them."

"So Crystal is the one who helped me navigate around the house this past week?" Hermione asked in awe.

"Yes," the simple answer only helped to fuel her confusion.

"But why?"

"Well, ahh... I guess is because she liked me and-"

For a reason or another, Hermione found this terribly amusing and she burst out in uncontrolled fits of laughter.

"Yes, yes, laugh, go ahead, but you should know that she likes you too."

"What!" that sure put a stop to her merriment.

A wave of deep affection enfolded both Harry and Hermione, authenticating Harry's claims.

"Crystal likes me because I remind her of Archibald," Harry tried to explain, wondering just what was that he had in common with Crystal's _father_, "and she likes you because, and this is where I don't understand what she implies, for she doesn't make much sense... she likes you because you are a... witch." If Hermione would have had eyes in this space, and time, she would have blinked. "Hermione, does this make any sense to you?"

"No Harry, it does not," was her conclusion after some fructuous moments spent in deep meditation. "But, do you remember the Black's tapestry from last summer?"

"Why, yes." How could he forget? When he first saw it, he wondered with longing for the first time about those who came before him. He was wondering still. And now that he remembered, he hopped to live enough to see his and Hermione's name on their own family tapestry; their names, and the names of their children. It was a good dream, one he thought it was worth fighting for. Spurred by the idea of children, pictures of him showering in kisses Hermione's naked body popped in his mind, seriously altering his blood flow.

"According to it," Hermione's oblivious voice brought his mind out off the gutter, "all the Black's women were witches, and pure bloods at that. Why would I be different?"

"I don't know Hermione," Harry answered quickly, trying not to let her notice the not so innocent thoughts that ran through his brain, "but whatever the reason, you and I are now Crystal's Master and Mistress."

Crystal chose that moment to shower them in her affection yet again, making the two of them smile. It also helped Hermione shake off the shock that she now was the Mistress of one of the most prominent pure blooded families in the wizarding world. She was sure that a lot of people were turning in their graves right about now.

"That's great and all Harry, but you still haven't told me how you know all this?" she asked for the third time, a clear whine distinguishing in her voice.

After taking a moment to cherish the thought that for once he knew something that she didn't, he complied.

"You see Hermione, among other things, Crystal has a particular set of memories Archibald instructed her to pass to us, as the Heads of the Blacks. These memories contain the more detailed version of the story I told you, what is the full extent of the wards, how to control them and another interesting thing or two."

"And pray tell, why didn't you tell me this from the beginning, mister?"

"And what? Ruin my fun? I don't think so!"

A huff was her only response.

"So... how do I access those memories?" She asked eager to learn something new.

"Just ask Crystal Hermione," he nudged her gently.

"Ahh... Crystal, would you please allow me access to your memories?"

In response to her request, Crystal _stepped foreword_, gently wrapping itself around Hermione. Several moments later, Hermione felt wobbly because of all the new knowledge crammed in her head.

"Wow."

"One for small words today, aren't we?" He got a smack behind his head for his trouble. "On the other hand, that's a word as good as any to describe it," Harry rectified with a smile.

After a few moments in which they said goodbye to Crystal, Harry and Hermione retreated out of the crystal.

Once back in the real world, Hermione found herself wrapped in Harry's arms. The room was now illuminated in daylight.

Harry hadn't been quite able to sake of the image of Hermione's naked body from his mind. He hadn't tried too hard either. Nor did he want to. And having her now pressed in front of him wasn't encouraging his judicious side to take a more active position in controlling his body. Not at all.

After a careful meticulous weighting of all the facts, an operation that took no more than five seconds – no doubt some of the best spent five seconds of his life – his mind was set.

Hermione shifted to be face to face with him just as he completed his introspection. Being of the same height as he, she had no trouble to rest her forehead on his, which she did. She was very conscious of how close his body was to her, and judging by the red that tinted his cheeks, and by the fact that she could feel his arousal in his nether region, she was fairly sure he was just as conscious of her as she was of him; a fact that she pleased her greatly.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, and to her amusement she saw his face becoming crimson red.

"I was thinking at you and me practicing to make babies," Harry told her in all his honesty.

"Only thinking it, Harry? Not planning to start perfecting our technique?" she teased him by nibbling softly on his lower lip.

He responded by capturing her mouth in a proper kiss, one that left the two of them breathing hard.

"That too honey, but not right now."

"Honey? I like that, but why not now?" she looked at him with poppy eyes, pouting slightly.

"Because I want to be with you when there are no other worries clouded above our heads, and when all our concerns will be to find new ways of pleasuring each other."

"If that's the case, then I fear we're in for a very long wait, my love. And I am not the patient type."

"Oh, I'm not planning to wait until we get rid of Snakeface. For I fear that is going to take a very long time indeed. All I ask from you is to postpone our get together until we found out were we stand. Right now we have no money, no food and no clothes and my assumption is that for some reason, the Order is against us. And if that's the case, then I bet all my money from Gringotts that our most beloved Ministry of Magic is as well. And that is bad."

"I guess I can't argue with logic, now can I? But when all this is finished, you and I will find the biggest, fluffiest bed there is and we will have our wicked ways with each other. After all, our life's purpose is to procreate. And we wouldn't want to disappoint life, now would we? Is that understood?"

"Yes Ma'am!"

"And don't call me ma'am."

"Yes honey."

"Better. So what's the plan?"

Their _plan_, in all its staggering complexity, could be summarized with a few well chosen words: pilfer everything they deemed worthy from the room, go upstairs and set things straight with the Order; and if that failed, go to Gringotts.

One of the most important pieces of information that was passed to them by Archibald via Crystal was that whenever they were in trouble, his heirs could always ask help from the Garnock Clan of goblins. If they were to invoke the help of the goblins, they would also be bound by the rules of the same old alliance that guaranteed they received their help. An alliance Harry and Hermione knew very little about. And what they knew came from a partial translation Hermione had done in a hurry with her limited knowledge of runes.

The writing was engraved on a brown piece of leather that held a sparkling medallion wrapped in its folds. A bag of coins and a wand was engraved on one side, and two staffs crossed beneath an impressive oak on the other. What Hermione could make out of the message sounded something like this:

Bound by honor,

Bound by blood,

Garnock of the greedy ones,

Stejar of the trees,

Moonleaf, wilder of the flame,

...house

...safe...

Bound by honor,

Bound by blood

Now, as it was back then, the mighty Garnock Clan ruled Gringotts, the wizarding bank of England.

Harry and Hermione knew, thanks to their newly accumulated knowledge, that the medallion was a portkey that when needed it could transport them into Gringotts, bypassing their wards – that is, if the current ruler of the clan still acknowledged the alliance.

They decided to use it only as a last resort.

The looting of the room did not take an awfully long amount of time. One of the objects they found to be most useful in aiding their purpose was a bottomless bag – which was a fancy name for a bag designed to be worn across the shoulder, with its interior much, much larger then its exterior, enchanted in such a way that it always weighted the same amount, no matter how heavy the load inside might be.

In Hermione's opinion, the chamber's true treasure, Crystal aside, it was the desk. Or more importantly what lay on the desk and on the shells around it. And those were books. Lots and lots of books, manuscripts, Archibald's journals and other writings that were considered much to valuable and dangerous to be left in the family library. All of them were in impeccable condition due to the magic of the room; and all of them found their way in their new bag, much to the delight of her of the bushy hair.

The chamber offered them another surprise; clothes. They spent no second thoughts in trading their pajamas with the new garments. When they finished changing, nothing old remained on them. New boots, new trousers, new jackets, and new robes. All leather, all of top notch quality. They fitted snugly on their bodies. And they were most pleased with them.

And as a final touch, they found some brand _new_ wands. _New_, like in four hundred years old. They were new to them, nonetheless. Using a meticulous process of try and error, both of them had chosen two wands each – with who-knows-what as their cores and wood frame. Each wand came with its own holster, which were design to be strapped on the forearms. The model of the holster went well with their new attire; so well in fact, that they were visible only to a close examination. One might assume they were created to be used together, or something. Their old wands, with the ministry tracking and underage charms were sent to their bag, only to be used in dire need or when they would be able to lift the unwanted spellwork from them.

It appeared that Archibald, when he fitted the room, he had thought at everything a wizard and a witch in need might need.

When they were finished with everything, they stopped for a moment for a final look around. They clasped hands, they kissed, they breathed deeply, and they asked Crystal to send them to their room hoping for the best. And they were gone.

OoOoOoOoO

It was well-passed midnight, and Ron couldn't sleep. Again – not that it was a surprise to anyone by now. If in the morning, when Harry and Hermione had disappeared, he thought things couldn't turn worse, then he had thought wrong. He felt like he was just a bloody spectator to the greatest reality show in the world. Caught right in the middle of the events and not to be able to alter even a single thread was infuriating to say the least. And it was HIS entire fault – Mr. I-Know-Better-Bloody-Git-Dumbledore!

He had had lost his friends. And what was worse was the fact that it happened right in front of his eyes without him doing anything to prevent it. Oh, he tried… Maybe, just maybe if he had insisted some more… Maybe if he had put his foot down and stayed firm on his position. But no… Dumbledore had to come and with his nattily tongue and sparkling eyes managed to convince everyone else that everything was going to turn out for the better if things were to be let to run their course. Who was going to listen to Ron when they had Dumbledore? He knew the answer now: nobody. He had been a fool for believing otherwise in the first place… If only he had acted when he had the chance…if only…

Because of him, Dumbledore, he had lost both Harry, and Hermione! He had known instantly the moment he had first laid eyes upon his friend that it was too late for Harry. He could feel it in his guts. Bloody hell, he could even see it! But Hermione… she could have still been saved… If only he had had the strength to do what had to be done she could have been beside him right now! All he had had to do was to enter their room and deal with the evil once and for all. But he had been weak, and Hermione paid for his weakness… Bloody Hell!

Damn! Why were all the crappy things in the world happening to him? The prospect of banging his head to a wall was very attractive to him right about now… And why in the name of Godric had he come here again? Here in this case being Harry and Hermione's room.

The room didn't look much changed from how it looked in the morning; the only obvious difference was that the pile of ominous books that Hermione was reading was no more. Somebody must have taken them back to the library, or so he thought. The only thing left on the table was a scattered pile of notes Hermione had compiled – tough luck trying to read them though. She had bewitched them somehow that only she could understand them. They appeared to be nothing but gibberish to anyone else that glanced at them. Ron knew that Professor McGonagall had spent a lot of time with them, no doubt trying to decipher their meaning. Later he had heard her morosely admitting failure after several unsuccessful attempts.

The room still had their trunks though. Not having anything better to do at this time of night, Ron started to rummage through them. Hey, maybe he could find some kind of hint or clue that would tell him were they were. So, his mind having been set, he picked up Harry's trunk and placed it on the bed. From one of his pockets he pulled out a Chocolate Frog and started to munch on it as he began his inspection.

His eyes landed on a tattered peace of parchment. This was bound to become handy during the school year! He took it and placed it outside the trunk. Almost immediately Harry's old invisibility cloak followed the Marauder's Map. What else was in there? Some patchy clothes, school books, junk, some broken glass, a half burned cauldron, some more junk, a pouch… ahh… only one galleon and some sickles… oh well… two shadows… Hey! Were did those shadows came from? Shadows!

Ron jerked up his head from the trunk and jumped back in shock. There they were – between him and the room's window; Harry and Hermione; holding hands and wands drawn impassively pointed at the ground. And what were they wearing? To his eyes it was some kind of dark rusty hooded robes that clanged tightly to their frames, following every curve of their bodies. With an effort Ron managed to rip his eyes from Hermione's torso and looked at their faces. Both were yellowish pale and Harry's cheeks were seriously bruised. Hermione had her hair hastily pulled back in a ponytail for a few strands had escaped and were now bordering her face.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed cheerfully managing at the same time to smile darkly, an unsettling glint in her hazel eyes. Harry looked at his possessions, and then narrowed his eyes upon the wizard in front of him.

Ron swallowed the nod that had formed inside his throat. Ever since that first day when he had been forcibly evacuated from this very room, every time he approached the door fear mixed with uneasiness would make him turn back and leave. As days passed by, the feeling only increased. But not this time. This time he would prove he was a Gryffindor through and through. He would fight his fear and he would conquer it. He would not run anymore.

Now that turning away and running, like all his senses were telling him to do, wasn't an option anymore, Ron's wheels started to turn at tremendous speed. Hermione was happy to see him! Though she was clearly disturbed, if the way she greeted him was anything to go by, maybe it was not too late for her. Though he could clearly see that she too had been corrupted by the same taint as Harry, maybe she still had a chance, no matter how feeble that chance might be.

This was his moment. He had to act quickly and with diplomacy. He had to reach to her true self. He didn't know how, but he had to. The stakes were too high! He had to succeed!

Ron dressed his voice with a cough and locked his eyes with hers. Taking a deep breath, he began, ignoring Harry completely.

"Listen to me Hermione." He wasn't taken any risks, so he spoke slowly, giving her time to understand the meaning of the words. "You," he pointed his left index finger at her, "have to fight it!"

Hermione didn't know if she should be amused or concerned about this. Stumped for the moment, she corked and inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"I know you're in there somewhere Hermione! Hear my voice, and come to me. Come back into the light! Be strong!" The pathos in his words was almost palpable.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, not knowing what to make out of Ron's behavior. They shrugged their shoulders at the same time and turned their attention back to Ron.

Being the smart witch that she was, Hermione guessed easily that, now that he had finished what he had to say, Ron was expecting her to come to him. Worried about his sanity, she did not do such a thing. In fact, she did nothing but stare at him a little perplexed. This did not go well with Ron who resumed his summons.

"Come Hermione, come to me!" Ron beckoned her with an outstretched hand. "I _know_ you can do it! Do it for me!"

If this wouldn't have been so sad, Harry would have found the situation to be quite amusing.

"For pity's sake, Ron. What's the matter with you?" Hermione asked tiredly. Except for the fact that she was getting annoyed, she was totally unaffected by Ron's words.

"No… Hermione…" Ron sadly shook his head. She, just like Harry was beyond reasoning. Snape had been right after all. He had to act now. He couldn't let them run away. "I'm sorry…" He prepared himself, and as fast as he could he reached for his wand that was safety tucked in his trousers.

Having all his concentration directed upon the witch, he completely missed the fact that Harry had, for some time, his wand pointed at him. Before he could grab his wand, Harry's stunning spell hit him squarely between the eyes. The world went dark and he collapsed. Swishing her wand, Hermione gave him the finishing touch, binding him in ropes.

Just then the door burst open.

"_Stupefy!_" a tall man shouted at them. Two deflective shields were raised immediately and the jet of light was directed harmlessly back to where it came from. With a swish of his wand Harry latched back the door shut in the face of their assailant, and Hermione sealed it. Still holding hands they both raised their wands in the air twirling them into a complicated pattern.

"_Prohibeo Virga Magica! Protegere Domus Maximus_!" they finished spouting the incantations just as the door blew up and they had to duck to avoid the splinters. A shock wave run through the walls of the house making them moan like a giant hand had gripped them in its iron grasp. The air inside Number 12 Grimmauld Place became heavy around its inhabitants and the lights had lost some of their potency. Some of the most ancient wards around the place had just come to life. Harry and Hermione climbed to their feet from behind the bed to be greeted by two wands from the doorway.

"Hello Remus and friend" Harry addressed the two wizards resignedly.

"Good to see you too, Harry, Hermione…" Remus answered eyeing them carefully, his wand still pointed at him.

"Drop your wand boy, this foolishness ends here and now," the second commanded as more footsteps could be heard coming from the hallway.

"Sod off you; I'm starting to get exhausted by all this nonsense."

"Why you insolent – Stupefy, Stupefy!" like he had done many times before, the wizard shouted the combo very fast, the difference being that now he looked stupidly at his wand when nothing happened.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and for the moment she jumped into her teaching mode. "No, no, no! You're doing it all wrong. It's done like this: Stupefy!" the girl launched the spell at the annoying individual. He wasted his breath trying to raise a shield and felt to the floor not understanding what was happening around him. With a quiet sigh, Lupin re-sheeted his wand in surrender.

"What happens now?" he asked calmly as Tonks, Molly Weasley and another disgruntled witch arrived at the door in a huff.

"Harry, Hermione!" Ms. Weasley shouted trying to make her way passed Lupin.

"Don't." She was stopped in her tracks by Harry's cold threatening voice as he leveled his wand with her.

Idly fingering her wand, Hermione eyed the shock-stricken Ms. Weasley for a moment before she shifted her attention back to Remus Lupin.

"Where are my parents?" she asked him.

"They are downstairs. For reasons that are obvious," he waved in her and Harry's direction, "none of us could sleep tonight. So we adjured in the parlour to talk and to keep the worry at bay. When I sensed you in the house, we all rushed up here. Minerva stayed with them." While he talked, none of the other three witches uttered a sound.

Hermione nodded, accepting his answer.

"In regards to you earlier question Remus," Harry spoke, his wand still trained on the adults, "here's what we're going to do..."

And so it happened, that not too much time later, the manor's parlour had become the warmest chamber of the house. Being the gathering point for all the people that were currently residing in the Order's Headquarters can have that effect on a mere room, even one as luxuriant as this one.

As evidence that the Blacks were well-off, there were more than enough couches and comfortable recliners in the parlour to accommodate all of them. Strangely enough, despite all the care and attention that was spent into decorating the room, the room's guests were far from feeling relaxed and comfy.

Remus, after he deposited the still unknown and stunned individual on the floor, made himself as comfortable as possible in a fluffy armchair. Beside him, on an identical armchair, Nymphadora Tonks was thoroughly inspecting her nails. While doing so, she was indolently curling and straightening her hair, something that Remus seemed to find most interesting.

A little to Tonks left, on a sofa, Louise and Kendal Granger, Hermione's parents, were sitting together with Minerva McGonagall and the unknown witch.

At the end of this long and hard day, a veritable rollercoaster of emotions, the two muggle dentists were spent. Now that they were in the same room, Hermione could fell through the empathic bond that she now shard with her parents the torrent of emotions coming from them more powerful than before. She couldn't figure out why, but more then anything else her parents were afraid of her. And Hermione's heart ached painfully because of it.

To Harry's eyes, Minerva, his transfiguration professor looked just as he remembered her. Her expression was grave, as always. She held herself straight and with dignity. Her attention was directed upon them, but more on Hermione than himself. Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought that he could detect a spark of pride mixed with sorrow in the way she looked at them. And there was something more behind her dark eyes... longing perhaps? But that made as much sense as most of everything else that happened to him since he awaken, and that wasn't saying much.

The unknown witch – tall, blond and skinny – was sitting with her arms crossed, and she was brooding. Almost all of her wanted nothing more then to jump at the two brats and to put an end to the charade. Thankfully for her, the small part of her brain that was responsible with the self preservation of her being was running in turbo mode. Something that she wasn't exactly used to. So she was confused, and did nothing.

And finally, there were the Weasleys.

Ron, still bound, but conscious courtesy of an _enervate_ spell was lying on the floor futilely straggling with his ropes. Due to the fact that he wasn't keeping his mouth shut, Harry gifted him with a silencing charm. His face was red as his hair from exertion, not like his mother's whose face had taken a lovely shade of milk-white.

Ms. Weasley was fiddling with her hands in her lap, torn between her safety and the safety of her child. She had made an attempt to help him, only to be promptly stopped by a spell that dug a hole in the floor between her legs. Ron attacked them earlier, or tried to at least, so Hermione preferred him the way he was at the moment. In an act that shocked most of everyone present, Hermione promised Molly that the next spell was going to pass through her head if she didn't behave.

Ginny was in the parlour too. She had been the only one asleep when Harry and Hermione had returned. She was awaked by the commotion, and now she wished she had remained in bed. Dressed in a nightgown she was curled at her mother's side, trying to sooth her, rubbing circles on her back. At the moment, more than anything, she was sad.

Harry and Hermione remained standing. Harry was still holding Hermione's right hand in his left. And they still had their wands drawn, ready to use them at the slightest provocation.

"People," Harry began addressing them. He did not shout, growl or snarl. He did not sound angry. He spoke in his usual voice, only a little hoarse. "We need answers, and you're going to provide them. Do you understand?"

"Why are you doing this?" Molly asked a little shaken.

The question surprised Harry.

"You actually don't know?" he asked incredulously in return.

Molly shook her head in denial.

Harry scratched his head with the tip of his wand pretending to think.

"Hmm... Maybe it has something to do with you people trying to kill us, or-"

"I did not do such a thing!" Molly yelled, almost jumping of her seat. Hermione's patience for hysterics was very thin, almost inexistent, and she was more than ready to calm her down with the help of a good old trusting _Stupefy_. Ginny was the one to save her mother from that cruel fate by holding her down.

"When I said _you_, you were supposed to understand the Order of the Phoenix as a whole," Harry clarified. "Now, let's try again. Remus, why don't you clarify this for us?"

"Harry, I assure you, nobody wanted to harm you or Hermione," Remus answered calmly, with a straight face.

Harry and Hermione had similar unbelievable expressions on their faces.

"Professor," the young witch considered by many the cleverest of her generation, "you must think us to be mentally deficient, or retarded. We. Are. Not. Do not play games with us; we are definitely _not_ in the mood. So I ask again, and you better answer. Why were we attacked?"

Remus complied. "You have thrown Moody off the roof, and you almost killed Snape. You have knocked down three wizards, and another witch and wizard suffered major burns and severe broken bones because of your spell work. Harry, Hermione," Remus pointed at the two of them, "you are the ones who attacked us," he finished looking dejectedly at them.

The silence that followed his words was interrupted seconds later by a slight cracking of the house's walls.

"Ha! Help is coming!" The unknown witch happily exclaimed. "You will not get away!"

"Whoever they are, it will take them some time to enter here if they don't want to destroy the house in the process," Harry explained to her and to the rest of them. "And until they do, if you have nothing useful to say, do shut up until you are spoken to."

Unfortunately, the neurons assigned to her preservation instinct choose that particular time to take a well deserved rest. So...

"I'm not afraid of you!" the witch stated with disdain.

"You should. _Stupefy_!" She felt limp to the floor from Harry's spell. Minerva looked at the fallen body beside her and sighed. Everyone else became tense in the aftermath of the spell.

Not at all perturbed by the cracking of the walls, or about the stunned witch, Hermione shifted her attention towards her favorite Hogwarts professor.

"Professor McGonagall, perhaps you would be willing to explain to us more thoroughly, in the time that we have left, what has happened here recently."

"D-don't t-tell t-them anything…"

What the… Harry didn't waist to much time to ponder how did the foreign witch managed to pull herself from the effects of his spell, for he had stunned her again.

"Professor?"

"You must understand," the old lady began in her usual manner, "that things have been very hectic since you two were brought here this last Sunday. Mr. Potter, we did not know what caused your condition. Your and Hermione's situation was strange enough, unique I might venture to say. But when Professor Snape returned and claimed that you were being possessed by You-Know-How... Please don't interrupt. He had brought proof as well, via a memory in a pensive of Him when he admitted rather cheerfully that it won't take much longer now for you to come to his side... It appeared that for some reason he thought the situation was very ironic. And Mr. Weasley here," she pointed at Ron, "was yelling at us, asking why we weren't doing anything to drive the darkness away from you. As the days passed, he began to voice his belief more and more forcefully. And he was not the only one. Most of the Order wanted to have you confined in a more secure environment, locked in a cell, or even shipped to Azkaban. Until now Dumbledore managed to diffuse the fears of most of the Order. Until this morning that is.

"When you two disappeared, spirits ran amok around here. Alastor arrived soon after your disappearance was discovered, and saw you on the roof. He rushed outside, and apparated to get you. You know what happened after that."

"Yes, we, do. Thank you Professor." Harry nodded in Minerva's direction.

"Hmm, Ron," Hermione turned to her friend? Former friend? "What is this _darkness_ that you are talking about? And how did you detect it?" She was genuinely interested in hearing his opinion, so she lifted the silencing charm to allow him to talk.

"How did I detect it? HOW DID I DETECT IT!" he all but screamed his lungs out. "I. CAN. SEE. IT! Beneath his skin, flowing in his blood, crawling behind his eyes! It has tainted his soul, and now it has taken over you as well..." he trailed the last words breathing hard. "I can sense the evil radiating from the two of you right now as we speak." He let out a croaked laugh. "You are not my friends. My friends have died." Ron lowered his eyes and refused to look at them any more.

Taking a moment to let Ron's words sink in, Harry dressed his voice.

"Are we evil, Ron? There is no such thing old friend. There is no good or evil. There is only what you chose to do with the skills you have acquired.

"Remus, what do you think?" Harry asked the last marauder, abruptly changing the subject. "Have you bought this darkness thing? Or the stories about possessions?"

"I don't know Harry. You tell me," Remus answered with a sigh. He did a lot of those lately.

"Maybe..." Harry whispered, surprising his audience. "I don't know either Remus. After all, I was unconscious for almost a week."

"This is not the answer I wanted to hear."

"Too bad this is all you're going to get."

"Harry, if Voldemort is trying to control you, then you need help; help which the Order will gladly provide. Dumbledore, I and the others will do anything in our power to get rid of him."

"Like you did this morning? Shoot first, ask questions later? Don't bother with the speeches Remus. Your offer is declined. Right now my faith in you is all but nil."

"But-"

"Enough! Professor McGonagall, what happen with Moody?"

"I can answer that," Tonks piped in razing her hand.

"By all means Nymphadora, please do," Minerva accepted.

Twisting her face into a grimace at hearing her most abhorrent name, Tonks did so.

"When he first came back into his senses after the dive he took, he was ecstatic. After he found out that you two slipped through the Order's fingers, he was more than overjoyed. If nothing else, he is proud of you! Congratulations!"

Harry and Hermione smiled.

"That's good to know. Is he at St. Mungo's now?" Hermione asked.

"Merlin, no! He hates hospitals with a passion. Bad memories or something. He is at home, in his bed, delighting himself with a generous dose of Skele-Gro. He'll be up and running by morning."

"And Snape?"

"He's in a bad shape alright." Tonks didn't sound sorry about him at all. "He is in St. Mungo sharing a room with the Longbottoms, and the healers have no idea how to help him. He is babbling nonstop something about _dark_, _pain_, _hate_ and other unintelligible things. You did a pretty good job on him, whatever it is that you did."

"He snooped where he didn't belong." Harry offered as an explanation. His features darkened at the memory. "He used a spell on Hermione. One that neither her, nor me know anything about it."

Hermione took over with the details. "The spell produced a multicoloured ball of light that passed with no apparent resistance through my _protego_ shield."

Remus features frozen. "Have you been hit by it?"

"Yes. It hit me in the forehead and I passed out for no more then a few moments. If it had any lasting effects, I don't know. What was it?"

Remus looked torn between Minerva and Hermione's parents. From the moment Hermione came into the room, the two doctors tried to catch their daughter's eyes. They hadn't succeeded yet. Now they feared that the answer she was expecting will drive her even further away from them.

Minerva broke the encumbering silence.

"As you may know, Professor Dumbledore has informed us about the charm you have cast Hermione." The young witch nodded. "And from then until now, one of the favorite topics of discussion in this house was how to undo your work."

Hermione blinked - then blinked again. Then she scowled. Then every piece of glass in the room instantly multiplied into thousands of little pieces.

"A general nullifier spell," she spat through her greeted teeth. "No doubt, one keyed to dispel or dampen bonds, or something similar."

"Yes", Minerva agreed. And it was all she could do to keep the pride she felt for her from showing on her face. "This was one of the options that were worth considering."

"Why were you discussing this in the first place?" Harry asked more then a little miffed, while Hermione was counting backwards from several millions, calming herself.

"That was our idea!" a male voice blurted out.

"Father!" Hermione cried, her counting forgotten. "Tell me it isn't true, father. Tell me you don't want me to break up with Harry. Tell me that you accept what I have done, or at least you're trying to. TELL ME!"

"Hermione, we all make mistakes when we are young and-"

"This is not a mistake father." She stopped her father firmly. "And if it is, it is _not_ for you to judge!"

"You're my daughter!" He yelled jumping from the sofa.

Hermione then did something she never thought will ever do. She flicked her wand and sent her father back to his seat, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Sweetheart, please, listen to me," her mother tried to explain with tears in her eyes. "All we ever wanted was for you to have a normal life, not to be a slave to another. Please, try to understand…" Mrs. Granger pleaded with her daughter.

Hermione shook her. "Slave! I'm nobody's slave, mother. And I do understand; I made a mistake for thinking that you were different from the other parents out there who want nothing more than to impose their way of thinking to her children with or without their consent. I also apologize for assuming that you would trust me enough to make my own decisions and live my life as I see fit. For that I am truly sorry." To say that the doctors were floored by their daughter's outburst would be an understatement. She turned her head to look at Harry. "Love, remind me when we have our children not do to them what my parents tried to do to me."

Harry nodded and reassured her with a gentle squeeze of the hand. He abstained from saying anything to Hermione's parents. It was not his place, not now. But later, he and Hermione would talk. And they'll find a way to bridge the gap between her and her family. After all, they did raise the witch that had become the center of his life. So they couldn't have been that bad. And now that Hermione talked about children, he really wanted them to be able to meet at least one set of grandparents.

"Let's go Harry. I don't want to be here anymore. We found out what we came here for. Goodbye everybody." And she turned away from them, dragging Harry with her towards the door.

"Please wait a second Hermione. Ginny, out of simple curiosity, where do you stand in this?"

She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Goodbye Harry, Hermione. Hope we meet again someday."

"Goodbye then Ginny."

And with that, Harry and Hermione left the parlour, leaving a confused room behind them. The door sealed itself shut behind them.

They slowly climbed the stairs to their room, each lost in their thoughts. Once there, Hermione gathered all of Harry's important belongings, some of their clothes and the notes she had compiled. All of them ended in the endless bag Harry now carried at his hip.

Harry turned to Hedwig. He petted the owl, and asked her not to come to him or Hermione until he called for her. Hedwig bobbed her head, nibbled on his finger a little more powerful than the situation demanded and went back to sleep.

Together, in silence, they proceeded to the library, its doors obediently opening before them. If they were going to leave, there were lots and lots of interesting books in here, books that Hermione simply had to have. There was no other way. The small mountain she selected was shrunken, and placed in the bag as well.

Together, alone in the dusty room, Hermione allowed a single tear to damp her cheek before she hid her face in Harry's chest, sobbing quietly.

"If you want, we can still change our mind about this…" Harry whispered softly in her ear all the while running his hands in small circles on her back.

"No," she shook her head firmly. "Let's stick to the plan we have. We must find out what happened with you, and for that we need allies. If something goes awfully wrong..."

"We get out of there as fast as we can."

"Good. Ready?"

"Always."

While Harry uttered the incantation to bring down the wards they had erected, Hermione instructed Crystal not to open the doors to the library for anybody or anything except them.

Once they were both finished, they had a last request for Crystal; to send them as far away from the house as possible. Crystal happily obliged.

And Harry and Hermione were no more at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.


	3. Once Upon a Time at Gringotts Part One

**Disclaimer – It still isn't mine. Pity.**

**Chapter Three – Once Upon a Time at Gringotts – Part One**

_Posted March 8th, 2006 _

The night was young, and so was he. Well, technically, it wasn't true, for the sun had descended under the horizon for quite some time, and he wasn't in his primes either.

But he found the thrill of the unknown combined with the danger lurking at every corner to be intoxicating. Add to that a morbid curiosity, which had put him more than once in situations were he only had to thank his wit and quick thinking for saving his head, and you get the perfect recipe for trouble.

He always walked on the fine edge between imprudence and temerity, not once willing to turn his head to the sides.

Danger was his only companion and friend. Only in the time between heartbeats, when life and death were only a hesitation apart, did he truly feel alive.

So when the opportunity came, he went after it, consequences be damned.

He knew he shouldn't be here, in the deeps, in the dark. But he wouldn't have been who he was if he would have let this opportunity go to waste; for he was Nightshade, and the darkness was his bride. Wrapped in shadows, he followed, always on the trail.

His impromptu adventure started innocent enough.

He had been at Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank of London, minding his own business. He had the nagging inkling that the goblins would not have approved of his definition of the word _business_. In fact he was pretty sure of that.

So he had taken measures to prevent the greedy little buggers from noticing his presence; for his, and also for their protection, of course. If by some monumental misfortune he would have been found prowling the halls of the bank at night, he would have had to answer to too many questions, in very little time. And he wasn't confident enough in his ability to pour words upon words in the time frame required for their sharp weapons to pierce his beloved skin. He would have had to fight back, something he was certain would have lead to blood stains, tarnished clothes, lose of limbs and possibly of lives – a truly regrettable incident, more so if one of the lives involved would have belonged to him.

He was doing a favor for the goblins, sparing them from a night of worthless aggravation. Actually, the goblins should thank him if they ever found out of his trespassing. But the particular ways in which they used to show their appreciation for acts such as this had a tendency to shorten one's life expectancy dramatically.

Thinking that what they didn't know couldn't hurt them, not at the moment at least, Nightshade decided not to be sloppy and to do his best to avoid any encounters of the third degree.

As testimony to his skills he had breached the goblins' Archives. A truly successful culmination of countless hours of preparations in which his patience had been stretched to the limit. But everything had been worth it, for here he was, gaily digging up through mountains of secrets.

_Almost there._

Three traps defused later, one annoying ward down and several nasty locking charms bypassed, and he had his prize in his hands. With the utmost care he rolled up the scrolls he had acquired and sealed them up in a cylinder which he tucked in his robes.

Now the sensible thing for him to do was to get out, and back to where he came from. And here it was where the quandary resided. Just _leave_ did not go well with his professional code of honor. The precious manuscripts he had now safely packed in his robes were fine and dandy, but they were not really for him. He found the very idea of leaving the bank with empty hands to be repugnant.

But what to appropriate? Here he was, in the middle of one of the most secure buildings of London, and he didn't know what to take. _Hmm... So many choices, so little time._

Thankfully, someone else made the choice for him.

He had been strolling from shadow to shadow looking for something to fill his pockets with, when a door banged open further down the hall.

In an instant, he hugged the walls, melting in the shade between two pillars. From his position he could not see who was approaching him, but he could clearly hear them. He had no trouble discerning the sound of four pairs of feet clamping down on the marble floor – two soft padded ones and two with heavy footwear. Two of the goblins were having a very animated discussion, the jumble of sounds and shrieks that passed as words to them harming Nightshade's delicate hearing.

They were getting closer and closer and when they finally came in his field of view, the flow of time slowed for the thief, his blood nothing more the ice through his veins. He couldn't take his eyes from one of the two goblins who were bickering, if bickering was the right name for a one sided conversation.

A high ranking goblin, judging by his highly ornate robe that adorned his body, held his head hung in shame as he listened to the admonishing of the other. Trailing him, several steps behind, were two hefty looking goblins that no doubt filled the position of bodyguards. Just like their employer, they were trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible as not to draw the ire of the fourth one.

The fourth one, the one who had all of Nightshade's attention fixed on him, was dressed in a blood-red robe decorated with black runes that were constantly blending with each other to form intricate new patterns in an everlasting dance of colour and shape. The hood of his cloak was pulled down bellow his eyes, obscuring the features of his face.

Nightshade didn't know if he should curse his luck or if he should fall on his knees to offer a prayer to Lady Fortune. Probably both.

He knew who that goblin was. And never in his wildest dreams did he think that his first encounter with him would have been due to father hazard. He knew him only as the Mage, first of the goblin Warlocks, greatest of them all.

Outside the protective walls of Gringotts, in the world of the tall walkers, the Mage was nothing more than a myth. Many stories were told about the fierce goblin spellcaster, his name whispered in the dark corners of the underworld, one more outrageous than the other. If only a fraction of them held a grain of sand, then the Mage would make for formidable ally, or a terrifying foe.

Naturally, the rumors about his abilities had reached the ears of Voldemort during his first raise to power. At the time, many resources had been spent by the Dark Lord in failed attempts of gathering relevant information about the mysterious goblin. His efforts had been to no avail. Until now.

The burden of tracking down the Mage had been laid on Nightshade's shoulders. When Voldemort bestowed this honor upon him, Nightshade relished the opportunity to test his abilities against him. But it was not supposed to be like this, in the dead of the night, on uncertain grounds, at the whim of a chance. Not when he didn't have a full deck.

When the group of four goblins passed him by, Nightshade still hadn't recovered from the shock of being in an arm's reach of the Mage.

As time regained its normal flow, so did his blood flow, and remembered to breathe again. A smile blossomed on his face. Pulling the shadows around him, he began to follow, silent as a ghost.

At one moment, with a last burst of well placed words, the Mage had separated from the other three. Nightshade didn't have to understand their language to figure that the parting phrase hadn't been a blessing in disguise.

Since then, the Mage, together with eight heavily armed goblins descended further and further bellow the surface world, in the land of the eternal night. Nightshade was on their trail, at a respectable distance behind, listening to the sound of their many heavy feet echoing throughout an ancient cavern.

While not very tall, barely reaching four feet in height, the small humanoids that were marching across the underground grotto were not something to be trifled with. A tight brown leather jerkin interlocked with chain mails covered their upper bodies. Their breeches, made out of the same material, ended with a pair of trampers with iron bottoms. The blazing torches they carried aloft in their hands were hardly dispersing the darkness surrounding them, but their flame greatly disturbed their lonely pursuer; their short black steel swords were drawn, ready to be used at the first sign of peril. On each of their wide backs, dual-bladed battleaxes were sitting comfortably.

The eight pointy-bearded, red-eyed goblins held a protective circular formation around the Mage. He held his hands in front of his chest, with his fingers entwined like in a prayer.

The group stopped when they reached the back of the cave, near two stalagmites. These tall stone structures, beside the fact that they were the only similar rock formations in the underground chamber, seemed to defy the natural laws. In their quest to reach the ceiling the pillars twisted and turned, screwing themselves in the dry air, and at the top, just like two partners frozen in a reverence, they leant towards each other, reaching across the gap to form a fabulous archway.

While the hooded-one stepped in the direction of the arch, the rest of the goblins scattered in the cavern forming a wide semicircle with their backs turned to the Mage. They sheathed their swords and then embedded their torches in the rough floor. Taking three steps forward, the goblins removed the battleaxes from their backs and adopted defensive positions, their eyes rummaging in the blackness.

No human could say that gobbledegook was a melodic language; far from it. But the sounds that started to come out of the mouth of the goblin with the red cloak almost held a harmonious flow. _Almost _being the key word.

As his voice started to get higher and higher, he reached out in his robe and pulled out a tiny pouch with his left hand; he then emptied its content in his right palm. It looked like dust - the only notable difference being that now and then a small blue spark would alit itself, sending small arrows of light through the goblin's closed fingers. With the song still alive on his lips he flicked his wrist with a sudden move, sending the dust through the arcade.

When the dust reached the arch, the song died as well. The Mage resumed his initial stance with his arms joined in front of him, waiting patiently. Not many moments after, the air between the two pillars started to shimmer; little strings of blue light emerging out of nowhere. The fabric of light that started to be woven began to take shape and it did not take long for a bright blue translucent door to fill the once empty space. One blink of an eye later and the door materialized to a solid form.

Lifting his arms in front of him with the palms facing outward…

"DENSAKAR MOKARA NEKTA!" the words rolled out of his mouth in a commanding tone, the sound hitting the walls of the underground chamber making them tremble. Bracing himself as if he was about to push a heavy load, he started to spread his arms apart.

"SHATASHIRA NEKAR!" he called imperatively. The resulted echo had the same effect upon the chamber as the first half of the invocation. Now that the incantation was finished, as his hands were slowly parting away a vertical crack began to appear in the door. The two halves of the portal followed the same movement as the goblin's hands, and when his arms were fully extended to his sides, the door was fully opened as well.

Sighing deeply, the goblin stepped into the darkness; the doors closing behind him without a sound.

The ritual did not disturb the vigilance of the eight remaining sentries. Enveloped in silence they stood still in their places; only their eyes betrayed them as living beings instead of statues. The distant rippling of a nearby stream was the only sound that tickled their sensitive ears.

Perhaps an hour had passed; maybe more, maybe less; when the doors opened again. After the goblin mage returned in the cave, the doors closed and with a small flutter, they disappeared from view.

As one, the goblins had immediately resumed their initial formation starting their long trek towards the surface, back to Gringotts, leaving the cavern just as they found it.

Soon they were far away, and just as the last sounds of their passing were dying, something moved along the cavern's walls. Blacker then black, a shadow within a shadow, the human approached the arch, his light step not making a sound. Behind him, not a trace of his passing could have been discerned in the pebble that covered the floor.

Here it was where Nightshade had to face another difficult dilemma.

_What to do? Go back, to try and learn as much as possible about the Mage? It was tempting, for he did not know when he would have such an opportunity again. On the other hand, he had come to Gringotts for an entire different purpose. And what about what he had witnessed? His restful dreams were at stake, as the mysteries of the strange portal would not give him the much desired peace he sought until they were elucidated_.

In the end he decided to solve his dilemma as all intelligent people who are faced with similar situations tend to do. He flipped a mental galleon, three out of five. Deciding not to tempt the hand of destiny, he accepted the result without complaining.

He went in the same place in which earlier the goblin performed the opening ritual. Lowering himself to the ground with his legs crossed beneath him, Nightshade began to plot his next move.

He was alone, just as he had been for as long as he could remember – or as long as it mattered anyway. Alone, always alone, playing a game of hide and seek, he being the titular for both positions. This was just the way he liked it.

Sitting in that one spot, surrounded by nothing but emptiness, he felt an almost unstoppable urge to leave everything behind and disappear forever in the endless subterranean labyrinth. He wondered for a brief moment how many other places like this one were around, how many secrets were they hiding and how many had paid with their lives for them. And he wondered if it was worth it. The temptation to get up and to fade out of the face of the world was there stronger then ever, but he would not be were he was now if he did not learn a long time ago to conquer it.

_One day…One day…_ and with that thought he resumed his task. He had a job to do after all.

After one last sweep of the cave to make sure that no unwanted visitors were creeping around, others than him that is, Nightshade closed his eyes and began to concentrate on stabilizing his inner magic.

Soon he no longer felt the cold hard stone, he no longer smelt the musty air nor did he hear anything but the beating of his own heart. Following the gentle staccato rhythm imposed by his core he went deeper inside himself, into his center where his magic resided. And he let it free from its dwelling to posses him. For a brief moment, his body tightened, as if to resist the intrusion; he relaxed almost immediately, accepting the sudden burst of energy as a part of himself. Breathing slowly, with his eyes still closed, he focused all his attention on the outside world.

And that was the moment he saw it; and it was beautiful. His heart made a sudden jump – as it always did when he used his magic see the world in this specific way. In that moment, to his inner eye the reality surrounding him was no longer built from the basic shapes and colors.

Instead he could see into the essence of the things around him. He could see their magic flowing through them; multicolored rivers of energy traveling on coiled paths. Lakes and pools of thousands of hues reflecting into one another; bridges of light traversing enormous gaps; connecting spheres of pure magic between them.

Clearly, distinguishably on the black background, two tall spirals of soft blue light were standing right in front of him, a web of bright white lines hanging between them. Slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out with his own magic searching for templates and irregularities in the door's patterns.

He could feel the subtle enchantments that worked in this place and he was not very surprised when beneath the surface charms that he detected he found others, more complicated, hidden in the waves of the web… After all, it was to be expected in a place like this. Layers upon layers, and he followed them all, diving deeper and deeper trying to find the beginning.

But what came as a surprise was a feeling that started to make its presence known in the back of his head. The further he went with his inspection, the more intense that feeling became. So entranced he was by the puzzles that he found in the web, that only when the feeling materialized itself into his voice that shouted _MOVE_ did he realized the danger he was in. And move he did.

He jumped instantaneously forward and to his left, arching his body into a ball.

The axe that embedded itself in the ground where he had sat only scratched his back with its tip. The cloak protected him from the sharp blade, averting a gash, but where he was struck, a huge diagonal bruise spread on his back. With a headache the size of a quidditch pitch, he rolled to his right on the floor evading yet another attack aimed this time at his head. Being dizzy from the sudden reality crash, it did not help very much that he could not hear anything else but the pounding of blood in his ears. And those torches were not helping at all by burning with their light the back of his eyes.

Trying to get up, another flash of pain sent him to his knees when an axe connected with his right leg just above the knee leaving a bloody mark behind. Seeing him kneeling in pain in front of him, the goblin let out a high pitched war cry as he span around bringing his mighty axe in a circular motion to slice in half the head of the trespasser.

Another goblin that came from behind the dark man pulled out his sword and he thrust it into his back as hard as he could, predicting an easy victory. The sword did not pierce his body but it did leave quite a mark breaking a rib or two, and it propelled Nightshade forward toppling him on the spinning goblin, breaking his momentum. So powerful was the sword strike that the goblin could not hold his equilibrium, and he tumbled on top of Nightshade.

Having found himself barely breathing pressed between two tough, angry goblins made Nightshade's wish to be someplace else burn that much brighter.

With every once of power he had, Nightshade pushed himself up. He desperately tried to untangle his body from the clutches of the goblins. Punching and kicking, he finally got his body free.

As he cursed his luck and carelessness, he began to hobble backwards towards a nearby wall trying his best to ignore the annoying pain and the blood dripping down his leg. Though his head was still spinning, his vision became somewhat clearer and he could easily see not only two, but five goblins that were slowly encircling him.

Viewing the small denizens of the deep with the mad glint in their fiery eyes and with their lips peeled back to reveal rows of sharp teeth, a shiver passed through Nightshade's body.

He prided himself with the fact that he could tell precisely when was the time to run, and when was the time to fight. And he knew without doubt that this was one of the former. Tapping what magic he still possessed, he flicked his left wrist, and a small obsidian ball materialized in his palm.

Just as the goblins charged in, Nightshade muttered a command word under his breath and he was gone a second later, the goblins' weapons finding nothing but air.

OoOoOoOoO

Far away to the north, in the mountains of Scotland, by the shores of a lake, at Hogwarts, up in a tower, in a circular office, behind a king size desk, propped in a squashy armchair, an old man was snoring loudly. His neck was twisted on one side, in a way that guaranteed he would awake with a stiff neck. His glasses were askew, ready to fall off at the slightest unwanted movement. A small stream of saliva was flowing through his parted lips and into his impressive looking white beard.

Albus Dumbledore was resting after a hard working day, a clear sign of his old age. Twenty years ago he wouldn't have been caught dead in such a compromising position, not when everything around him was going from bad to worse faster then he could spell quidditch. But alas, his physical condition wasn't what it once was, and even if his spirit was willing, his body couldn't keep up like it once used to.

Trinkets and gadgets of all sizes and shapes adorned his office. Most were just sitting there, content with being ignored by the age wizard. One of them was having different thoughts than its brethren and it wasted no time to communicate its displeasure to the world by letting out wave after wave of the most annoying piercing sound ever created.

Dumbledore awoke with a jolt from his fantasy, disappointed at realizing that in fact he wasn't seating on a throne of fluffy white clouds, and that the only thing flying around him was a lonely fly, and not a beautiful group of majestic winged lemon drops that awaited only his command to jump into his eager mouth to suck on them.

Fumbling with his glasses, he quickly located the source of the sound – the petulant device that should have known better then to disturb his much needed rest. With a well practiced wand flick he brought a swift end to the maddening noise. He, as well as all the portraits hung on the walls let out a relieved sigh. If this proved to be another false alarm...

Dumbledore mumbled a long incantation of hushed words, and streams of pink symbols appeared above the gadget. His eyes goggled behind his glasses.

"Fawkes, mayday, mayday," Dumbledore shouted at his faithful familiar, who was looking put out at him through his half-slit eyes, "there's trouble at the nest! Alert the core flock at once!"

Fawkes croaked, acknowledging the command before disappearing in a blaze.

"Phineas!" the wizard rounded up to the portrait of the late slytherin headmaster. "What can you tell me from your other portrait?"

"Nothing Albus," the man from the painting told him after several apprehensive moments, "it's like my other frame has disappeared entirely."

Albus nodded grimly at the news.

He quickly went to a side drawer and pulled an odd looking wool sock from his special emergency stock. It didn't take him long to transform the simple clothing garment into a brand new, highly advanced, state of the art, untraceable portkey.

With the help of his wand, Dumbledore erected protection charms around his body. Once he finished with his preparations, he closed his left fist firmly around the sock made portkey.

"Activate," he spoke the activation phrase, and he was whisked away.

He had programmed the sock to take him directly inside the Order's headquarters, in the middle of the kitchen. He had all the confidence that he would arrive where he intended. After all, he had taken into the account all kinds of possible, impossible, and then some more anti-portkey charms that might have been erected on the spot.

Great was his surprise when instead of the expected smooth landing he found himself intimately familiar with a wall of magic. He banged his head upon the barrier, and he bounced off it, landing in a painful heap on the lane in front of the manor.

"So nice of you to join us," a sarcastic bark greeted him from above. A gnarled hand was extended to him, and he promptly took the offered help.

"Alastor, old friend, weren't you suppose to be in bed?" Albus asked the ex-Auror, while still trying to regain his right footing.

"Bleah," the man dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand, "and miss all the fun? There is still life in these old bones of mine, and no fractures, contortions or sprains will keep me down for long," Med-Eye stated proudly.

"You would not talk like that if Poppy would be around," Albus couldn't resist, and he watched what looked suspiciously like a mild panic attack.

"Don't talk like that!" Moody snarled at his friend. His electric blue eye was spinning valiantly in an attempt to locate the aforementioned Healer. He breathed in relief when the result of his sweep came out negative. "That woman is scarier than a rabid pack of blood thirsty piranha poodles on a moonless night." Both wizards shuddered at the thought.

"So what do you make of that?" Mad-Eye pointed at something behind Dumbledore's back.

Dumbledore turned to look at where the Black Manor should have been. An impenetrable dome of magic presented itself to his observation. While he examined it through his glasses, two more wizards and a witch apparated out of nowhere around them, wand in arm and ready to fight. They landed right when Med-Eye was practicing his _constant vigilance,_ and so they had to avoid streams of angry red stunning spells.

After making sure that all their limbs were still working properly, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones and Arthur Weasley joined the elderly duo.

"Albus, what happened?" Arthur was the first to ask, but his attention, just like everyone else's, was nailed firmly on the mysterious ward around their headquarters.

"As of seven minutes ago, the wards that we erected around Number Twelve Grimmauld Place have failed and were replaced by this," Dumbledore answered without tearing his eyes from the magical construct. "Unfortunately, I do not have any idea who or what may have produced it."

His last statement, more than anything else, shattered the hopes of everyone else of finding a quick and easy solution to their crisis.

Dumbledore turned his back to the house with a sigh of defeat.

"Alastor, I can not get through it. Do you see anything?"

"No, not a darn thing."

"Have you tried to simply walk through it?" Hestia asked in a hopeful voice. She was promptly the target of some incredulous stares. The shape of a stain on her left boot was very interesting all of a sudden.

To find an answer to her question, Kingsley levitated a boulder from the ground and slammed it into the barrier. The boulder bounced off and he had to duck to avoid obtaining a broken head.

"Fawkes," Albus shouted in the air, and the mighty Phoenix appeared on his outstretched left arm in a whirlwind of flame. "Can you get inside there?"

The bird tilted his head to take a better look at where his pet wizard wanted him to go. He then crossly ruffled all his feathers from head to tail and let out a long angry trill, all along battling his wings furiously.

"All right, all right, I apologize, I'm sorry, I didn't know," the greatest wizard of the modern days tried to appease the irritated bird. He hadn't lived with Fawkes for more than a hundred years without learning how to get back into his good graces. Acting on his accumulated knowledge, he fished in one of his pockets for his ever present bag of lemon drops. He swiftly opened it, and offered it to the mystical bird to serve himself. The proud Phoenix instantly vanished with the entire bag in his beak, but not before slapping Albus with the tip of her wing across the face.

"And that is precisely why I always carry _two_ bags of lemon drops," Dumbledore explained to his perplexed colleagues.

By the time Dumbledore had made peace with his familiar, in his opinion, more members of their militant group answered the call of help.

It didn't take long for them to organize. Heeding the words of their esteemed leader, the witches and wizards of the Order had quickly agreed to the submitted plan.

The notice-me-not charms that already were in place around the Black Manor were reinforced for increased security. It would not do well for them to have a mob of curious muggles gawking at their every move. The only one who liked performing en masse obliviations was currently suffering from an overdose of his own medicine. And thank Merlin for that, or rather thank Ron's former broken wand.

Three witches formed a large equilateral triangle around the warded house As soon as they were in position they began to chant in complete synchronization with each other, streams of energy spinning out from their wands. Their purpose was to build and maintain a ward that would keep some of the magical emanations that were bound to happen inside the boundaries of their triangle. The last thing they wanted was to draw the attention of the magical community towards what they were doing.

The rest of the wizards spaced themselves equally in a circle around the dome. At Dumbledore's signal, they simultaneously cast their pre-agreed spells. While he was focusing his willpower to bring down the ward, he tried not to think about whom or for what purpose had erected it. To speculate at this point meant more time lost, and time was a luxury they could not afford.

Their prime concern was the fate of those trapped behind the barrier. They could not afford to wait until they studied the magic involved and came up with an elaborate solution. That could take from several days to months, if not years.

Dumbledore had made an educated guess based on the ridiculously little amount of pertinent information he had gathered. To his eyes nothing could get inside, and nothing could get outside of the ward.

Their tactic wasn't a strategy borne of a genius spark of a fructuous brain storm. It was crude, primitive and brutal. And they hoped that it would prove effective as well. It was all they could come up in such a short notice.

So they tried to overpower the ward using a variation of a siege spell designed especially for situations such as these. The spell drew its energy from the wizard or witch which was casting it, and tried to turn the magic of the ward against it, draining on its reserves. The down part of the spell was that it was very taxing on the caster, and in more cases than not, the targeted ward tended to outlast its assailants.

Dumbledore hoped that those trapped inside, if they had not been overrun by enemy forces, would notice their attempt of freeing them and would try to help from their side. After all Minerva was one of the ones trapped behind, and he had all the faith in her that she would have made it even if the situation would have gone terribly dire.

Dumbledore and the others were confident that they would succeed in their task. After all, they were some of the most powerful and skilled practitioners of the arts in the country. No ward created in a hurry such as this could stand a chance against their combined might.

And they were probably right. No ward created _in a hurry_ could have resisted them. To their misfortune, this was not the case. It had become apparent to them as well when after minutes of continuous casting they were all panting with difficulty and their robes were soaked to the skin with their perspiration. Despite their efforts, the ward was barely reacting to their attack; only minor ripples had begun to form in its almost physical texture.

By now their wands were shaking furiously in their hands. And as more and more seconds were lost to the sands of time, one after the other the members of the Order were falling on their hands and knees swamped by exhaustion.

When more then half of them were too tired to cast, Dumbledore signaled the others to stop and to rest.

The situation wasn't progressing as planned. He took a seat on the grass near Mad-Eye and looked with spite at the ward that defied him. He pulled of his glasses and softly massaged his eyeballs through their closed eyelids. After a moment or two spent thinking at nothing, he slipped the glasses back on his crooked nose.

A loud slurping sound followed by a clogged pop alerted the wizard.

"By the three socks of Merlin," was what Dumbledore whispered incredulously when he opened back his eyes.

There was no ward around their headquarters, and no trace that it had ever existed.

"Alastor, you know what?" asked Dumbledore in a resigned voice.

"Hmmm?" his friend replied in kind.

"I'm getting too old for this..."

The news he received once inside didn't help at all in making him feel young again; on the contrary.

OoOoOoOoO

The portkey deposited him with the grace of an exotic hippo dancer twenty inches off the ground. He bit his lower lip to stifle a cry when he landed painfully on his injured leg. His leg gave up under his weight and he ended on his arse.

He paid no attention to his surroundings. If he would have been in any other place this would have been his first priority; but not here, not in his own dark hole that he called home. Here, with no light sources in sight he could feel his eyes relax and the pain he felt from them evaporated.

He fumbled quickly inside one of the pockets attached to his belt. Once he had found the vial he wanted, Nightshade wasted no time in pouring it on his leg wound. As the potion worked, a sizzling sound could be heard in the dark room, and irritating stings were sent all over his leg, making his muscles twitch. At least the bleeding had stopped.

He flexed his leg with care, testing to see if its mobility had been affected. It was more then a little sore, but it was operational. At any rate, he could at least walk.

Another incursion in his trustful belt and two more vile tasting rancid potions had taken the one way trip down his throat. One to fight any potential infections and the other a quick acting dose of skele-grow; if he could only stop breathing while the bone mender did its work.

Grunting in frustration, he climbed up to his feet. He used one more charm to get rid of the blood that drenched his trousers; and another one to mask the torn fabric.

And now that he was here he might as well deliver the prize to the Dark Lord.

He left the sanctity of his quarters and entered the corridor outside. He didn't manage to make two steps when a long series of shrieks coming from one of the adjacent rooms assaulted his ears; lately this had become an occurrence way too often for his tastes. Why couldn't they use silencing charms it was a mystery to him. It sounded like somebody was having his skin removed one inch at a time, which was probably true judging by the insane high-pitched laughter mingled with the cries. He could recognize that laughter anywhere. The resident psycho bitch was playing again. He picked up his pace. Running into her was very low on his list of priorities at the moment. He wasn't truly recovered from their last encounter. The marks on his body were clear evidence of that fact.

Lost in thoughts for a moment, Nightshade almost missed the scene that was happening in one of the rooms he had passed by. When the images of what he saw reached his mind he stopped dead in his tracks and began to carefully retrace his last few steps. When he took a better look he realized his imagination hadn't played a bad joke on his mind. He could feel a migraine building up. He closed his eyes hoping against hope that this was not happening. No such chance.

Nightshade knew that in the morning this chamber had played, and quite successfully at that, the roll of a well pecked storeroom, just as it did for years and years. Now it was a large room remarkable through the complete lack of objects that could be found in it.

Six not so young men dressed in nondescript robes occupied the room. They were standing in a wide circle in the middle of the room, and by the look of it, they were just completing a ceremony. A myriad of runes were etched on the floor under their feet; and they were glowing, an ominous shade of purple.

Nightshade watched with mounting dread as one the men wilding an elaborate sculpted staff raised his hands high above his head. The thief paid no attention to the words that were spoken. He didn't have to, for he knew what was going to happen. Yup, that migraine was starting to kick in. As a whirlwind of energy began to form in the middle of the chamber, Nightshade absentmindedly searched for a headache-remover potion in his belt. He found none. He closed his eyes and a low growl formed in his throat.

His growl was almost immediately joined by another one, deeper, more intense, more solid, a growl that had the power to shake the walls of the room. The second growl lasted only for a couple of fleetest moments before it morphed into a rampaging roar.

Reluctantly, small bit by small but, Nightshade opened his right eye, and then the other, and his shoulders sank. He was not dreaming. And in front of him, tied in ethereal bonds an eight foot tall abomination of muscles, colossal razor-sharp teeth, and five inch claws was looking at him from countless small lidless biddy eyes thrown on frog-like face.

While that _thing_ was straggling to free itself from the magic bonds, the one with the staff turned to look at Nightshade, his wrinkled face split in half by the greatest smile he ever had the misfortune to see. He bowed low to him and turned to his newly acquired pet.

By some miracle Nightshade reigned in his desire to feed the damn summoners to the demon they have brought into his dungeon. He tripled cursed the day he allowed Voldemort to establish his base here. He had enough problems with his bothersome bootlickers, and now demons were roaming on his once peaceful and quiet halls. This hadn't been part of the deal.

Wanting to know just what was Voldemort trying to accomplish with the fluffy beasts from the abyss, Nightshade reached the entrance to the Dark Lord's throne chamber in no time. To his disappointment it was closed, the veil frozen. He placed his left hand in the middle of the door and he expanded his senses, piercing the thick dark substance into the space beyond. The emptiness of the room was only surpassed by its tenebrous ambiance.

He retreated back to his own body just in time to spot a lonely Death Eater tip toeing by him in the corridor.

"Where is he?" Nightshade's spooky voice scared the hell out of the poor man.

The lone Death Eater gulped. Why, why did he have to chose this passage way? Nowhere in his day's schedule said anything about him meeting with _him_!

He raised a shaking hand and pointed in the general direction of the where he came from.

"Lib-l-library!"

He delivered his highly important message and then took off, eager to put as much distance between himself and _him._ In theory, they both might have been on the same side, but the grim reality told another story.

Ever since Voldemort and his merry band of munchers had taken residence in his home, Nightshade's restful days had come to an end. If he had to, he would tolerate the Dark Lord. But he was not one to swallow the attitude of those who groveled at his feet. First and foremost this was his home, and they were mere guests. Many heads had rolled, literally, until the idea that pissing him off was a life changing experience from a healthy and breathing state into a dead and rotten one, that is.

Nightshade wasted a couple of moments of his precious life to watch as the Death Eater tried and failed to hide from him in the shadows of the hall. It always amused him to see the pathetic attempts of these humans at what they called stealth. When finally the disturbed man managed to turn around a corner and the show was over Nightshade resumed his trek.

On to the Library.

More than a few corridors and two sets of stairs later he had reached his destination.

Two guards dressed in full Death Eater regalia were stationed at the entrance to the repository of knowledge with the wands drawn in their hands.

As Nightshade advance towards them, the one on his left made a step foreword and raised his left hand with his palm pointed to him.

"Stop! You cannot pass!" the Death Eater commanded. Voldemort had ordered them personally that under no circumstances his lordship was to be disturbed. He would not fail. This was a chance for him to rise quickly in the ranks, his opportunity to greatness.

The other one looked from his colleague to the approaching dark cloaked man. He, above all else wanted to live. To hell with the other one, he was a new guy after all. If he wanted to play the hero, then he will let him. He had better things to do anyway, like breathe and enjoy life. So he did the sensible thing, and began to increase the distance between them.

"Stop!" the watchful one shouted again when Nightshade didn't conform to his order.

Seeing that he just wasn't going to stop and he was now only a few steps in front of him, the Death Eater threw his wand arm in front of him, a destructive spell already on his lips. He must have blinked or something, for one moment his wand was trained right at the intruder, and in the next, his wrist was in a vice-like grip. The pain of his bones breaking and piercing his skin was just reaching his brain when a gloved hand smashed into his face. He didn't even have time to scream before his head impacted the hard stone wall with enough force to make his skull shatter. He was dead before he even understood what was happening to him.

Feeling a little better, Nightshade stopped to watch the bloodied corpse at his feet. This one couldn't have been older than twenty; young and foolish. It was food for thought for Nightshade how some people could forgo all ideas regarding self preservation in the hope of achieving some fable recompense from their lord and master.

He then stared to his right at the second guard who promptly hid his wand arm at his back and tried to look innocent; all he lacked was a golden halo above his head. Dismissing him without a second though, Nightshade pushed open the double doors of the Library and stepped in.

If not for the squeaking of the door's hinges, his entrance would have gone totally unnoticed.

In the back of the Library Voldemort looked up from the maps he was studying. The self proclaimed Dark Lord was not alone. At his side was a mean-looking goblin – once upon a time, probably in a fight, he had lost his entire upper lip; the sight of his yellow-brown sharp teeth would have forced a lesser being to recoil in horror. Under a desk, Nightshade had no trouble to spot a rat scurrying from shadow to shadow.

While Nightshade approached the duo, he could hear the goblin speak.

"Voldemort, you allow your subjects to burst in unchecked like this? It is very unbecoming of you. A thousand whip lashes he should receive on his back for such disrespect, and his knees caps should be broken to teach him to kneel before his betters."

"Now, now Krengan, he is more of an ally, than one of my minions, just like you."

"My Lord," Nightshade gave a curt bow towards Voldemort. He reached inside his robes and retrieved the sealed scrolls he had acquired from Gringotts and handed them to him.

"Have you had any complications?" Voldemort asked while passing the scrolls to the goblin.

"None whatsoever," Nightshade replied, deciding to keep secret the meeting with the Mage and the adventure that followed for a more private discussion. He was lucky he was one of the few who could lie in the face of Voldemort and get away without being caught.

An angry cry brought the attention of the two humans to the goblin.

"You incompetent fool!" Krengan hissed in rage at the thief. "This was not what you were supposed to steal!" The goblin shouted some more derogatory words in his native language, waving the now opened scrolls in his hands.

Nightshade didn't say anything. He just looked bored at the short creature. Of course, having his face covered by an expressionless black mask ruined the effect to some degree.

Voldemort glanced at the thief, urging him to explain.

"I assure you I have followed the instructions I have received from you to the letter. This is what was at the end of the trail."

"Impossible!" the now fuming goblin bellowed again. "This is not the key to their outer wards. Do you know what this is? Do you? Ha? This is a list of the ten ways in which you can cook porkelscrump fish! It's a cookbook! A cookbook!" The goblin finally stopped to draw his breath.

"So?" Nightshade asked highly amused. He didn't really give a damn about what was written on the scrolls.

"Your informant was wrong, Krengan," Voldemort's scratching voice put and end to the behavior of the goblin. "We will torture and kill him later. It would have been nice to have an advantage such as this, but we will just have to do without. Your warriors and my Death Eaters will be more then enough to handle the situation. And I have prepared some surprises, just in case," he finished with the shadow of a smirk on his face.

The last bit perked Nightshade's attention. "Are they trustworthy?"

"As much as everyone else," Voldemort admitted.

A loud knock was heard at the door.

"Enter," Voldemort commanded and a Death Eater entered and kneeled inside the room.

"My Lord, I have an important message from the scouts. May I speak?" Voldemort gave his consent. "Potter and his mudblood Granger were spotted entering Gringotts Bank of London."

"So, he dared to show his face at last," Voldemort mused aloud. "Krengan, are your warriors ready?"

"They better be," the goblin spat, busy tarring apart the offensive recipes.

"Good. For now is a time as good as any to see if our plan is going to succeed or not." Voldemort then turned to Nightshade. "Our encounter with the boy should prove interesting, don't you think so?"

And then he laughed, the echo of his voice reverberated through the entire underground dungeon.


End file.
